


Yvara

by Shivani



Series: Yvara [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-02 15:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 175,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4065784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shivani/pseuds/Shivani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An attempt at an RP-style play-through of Skyrim, with a story written based on the journal mod I used to keep track of what happened, separated into ten parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1.1 The College of Winterhold

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta** : Batsutousai
> 
>  **Spoilers** : Skyrim, All DLC, Mods (courtesy of Nexus)
> 
>  **Warnings** : Flippancy? Mary-Sue-ish? Rampant sarcasm.
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Bethesda. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 
> 
> **Notes** : Includes references to various mods I use, including but not limited to, in no particular order: Live Another Life, Dwemer Luggage, Ritual Armor of Boethiah, Chesko’s Wearable Lantern, Convenient Horses, Elysium Estate, Take Notes!, Better Vampires, Balanced Magic, Forgotten Magic Redone, Males of Skyrim?, and so on. I have around a hundred mods, and I'll be damned if I list all of them.
> 
> The name Yvara was taken from looking at the UESP listings for female Breton characters from various Elder Scrolls games, so that I had something I knew was “lore friendly”, but wasn’t being used in Skyrim. The story also includes a non-existent made-up item because relying on the Face Sculptor wouldn’t work and wouldn’t be discreet enough (meaning I used showracemenu when necessary).
> 
> As for the pairing, I don’t like how most people you can marry are either fugly or get ripped away from their lives. Yeah, because seeing Argis baking pies in whatever home is so adorable when he should be stalking around wailing on hostiles. Yvara hasn’t done anything except appreciating the view and some vague flirting, but if you want to believe that she’s secretly indulging in bedsport offscreen with certain people, you go right ahead.
> 
> Also, I almost never write in first person, but this one seems to lend itself to that, based on the notes I’ve been taking along the way (Take Notes! journal mod) as I play. Yvara is a bit flippant or tongue-in-cheek and it just doesn’t come across right in third person. I think it has to do with not having an established character to keep in, you know, character, so first person is just easier to work with. She may also come across as Mary-Sueish, but part of that has to do with her benefits and assuming that perks unlock automatically.
> 
> Uh... since I’m writing this based on the journal mod it’s weirdly descriptive and slow in places, and “wow, a week passed and I have no idea what happened” in others. Meaning, all or some of it may be hella boring to some people, but that’s not my problem. Either you’ll enjoy it or you won’t. I probably won’t write in loving detail a bunch of tombs, but there’s probably going to be at least a passing mention of places she goes. This is a different kind of story from my usual in that sense, where I usually try to be economical and only include things that advance either the plot or the characters. This? Anything is up for grabs. Including very short sections for any particular day. Don’t like it? Don’t bitch to me about it. _You were warned._
> 
> There’s a lot of deviation and kludging together of dialogue options. There’s also absurdity from actual events in the game (either by design, things the official or unofficial patches don’t cover, or just catching people at the wrong time, so most of the stuff that comes across as a little bizarre _really did happen_ in the play-through I journaled, which explains why most of the time she's jogging everywhere instead of “cheating” with fast travel). Uh, I also haven’t fiddled with the rate of time or adjusted the dates to reflect a larger Skyrim so the dates are pretty much as-is, which again strengthens the Mary Sue qualities.
> 
> Missing dialogue (for Savos Aren) was used in chapters six and seven, courtesy of UESP. It was kind of a shame it was left out, because it really adds something to the whole thing. And you’d never know it unless you were curious and poked around, or had the right sources to tap.
> 
> Amusingly, a mod I have makes the dust motes down in Blackreach into snow, so I have to assume the devs were hopped up on skooma to make dust and snow from the same source. I should not be seeing my “whimsical” variety of snowflakes underground, yet I am.

05042015

###### First Lessons  
Last Seed, 17th, 4E 201

I arrived not long after dawn, having spent the night at The Frozen Hearth. An Altmer mage by the name of Faralda escorted me up and pointed me in the direction of Master-Wizard Mirabelle Ervine, the Arch-Mage’s second. I approached, but when I saw she was in conversation I hung back a bit to wait.

“I believe I’ve made myself rather clear,” Mirabelle was saying.

“Yes, of course. I’m simply trying to understand the reasoning behind the decision,” her companion replied. He was wearing Thalmor Robes so I assumed he was an Altmer. The snootiness of his voice didn’t help the image.

“You may be used to the Empire bowing to your every whim, but I’m afraid you’ll find the Thalmor receive no such treatment here. You are a guest of the College, here at the pleasure of the Arch-Mage. I hope you appreciate the opportunity.”

Well, that was putting him in his place, though I expect she just made an enemy.

“Yes, of course. The Arch-Mage has my thanks.”

The mer’s voice was both insincere and frustrated, but hopefully it would remain none of my business.

Mirabelle closed him off with, “Very good. Then we’re done here.”

It was only after the Thalmor had walked away that I continued my approach and introduced myself.

“Another new student. I’m surprised at how many of you there are lately,” she said, then waved a hand and began walking. She led me into the Hall of Attainment and indicated the first room to the right. “This is where you'll be staying. This bed and desk are yours. Please try to be considerate of others and also keep your voice down while inside, as others may be working on research or . . . delicate experiments.”

I frowned slightly given there weren’t any doors on any of the rooms and resolved to at least hang up something to serve as a basic means of privacy, but nevertheless dropped off the majority of my things to one side of the bed. Mirabelle pointed at the wardrobe in the room. “Inside is a set of clothing, enchanted for mages. Every new student gets a set. Now, it’s only a basic set, but it’s certainly adequate.”

“And if this one gets damaged beyond repair. . . ?” I asked curiously.

“Ah, then you would need to pay for another,” she replied. “You can ask any of the trainers here about that, and you’ll meet them as you go along. You’ve already met Faralda.”

“Trainers?”

“Yes. Students are expected to be proactive and study on their own for the most part, but you can pay one of them for specific training to help you along if you’re having issues.”

“Not a problem,” I said. I hadn’t come here as a dirt poor student, after all, but I had every intention of being careful with the money I had. I wouldn’t exactly call it an inheritance considering that I’d squirreled coin away obsessively in preparation for what I really wanted to do, but it served as one. The main thing I’d done was buy a horse. He was a sturdy beast well suited for the often frigid conditions of Skyrim and could carry rather a lot of goods for me. The point being, I could afford new robes if the ones the College gave for free met a bad end, but I’d rather not have to. The same went for training. Better to learn it through practice.

I was then shown a few features of the hall, including where food was normally set out for whenever the inhabitants were hungry, then guided back outside. Mirabelle pointed right, past the entrance, and said, “The Hall of Countenance lies over there, a mirror to this tower. The higher ranked mages usually live there. The central tower is the Hall of the Elements and it contains the Arch-Mage’s quarters, the Arcanaeum, and where classes are generally held.” She paused for a moment, then said, “Actually, Tolfdir has a class scheduled to start in just a few minutes. Why don’t you head on in and join the other students.”

I gave her a polite nod and backtracked into the Hall of Attainment and to my room so I could change, still unhappy about the lack of a door. After that I returned outside and to the Hall of the Elements. There were double doors to either side made from wood in the entryway, and ahead was more of a gate, fashioned with the symbol of the College. I could see a number of people already inside, so I pushed one side open and slipped in.

As soon as I got close enough the presumed Tolfdir (and I presumed based on him facing the other three) said, “Welcome, welcome! We were just beginning. Please, stay and listen. So, as I was saying, the first thing to understand is that magic is, by its very nature, volatile and dangerous. Unless you can control it, it can and will destroy you.”

One of the students spoke, a female by voice, and said, “Sir, I think we all understand that fairly well. We wouldn’t be here if we couldn’t control magic.”

I glanced off to the side. Handling known spells is one thing, but I gave her credit for being confident.

“Of course, Brelyna. Of course. You all possess some inherent magical ability. That much is not being questioned. What I’m talking about is true control, mastery of magic. It takes years, if not decades, of practice and study.”

Well, I had time, I thought, and so did the girl if the way she spoke said anything about her race. The only reason I could tell for one of them for sure was the tail lazily waving about.

The Khajiit said, “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s get started!”

“Please, please! This is exactly what I’m talking about. Eagerness must be tempered with caution, or else disaster is inevitable.”

The third student, also male—I would have to learn their names later—said, “But we’ve only just arrived here—you’ve no idea what any of us are capable of. Why not give us a chance to show you what we can do?”

Tolfdir looked directly at me then. “You’ve been quiet so far. What do you think we should do?”

Oh, thanks. I was content to just listen, but no. “I think caution is very important, but too much caution means nobody ever gets anything done, and that danger can be an excellent teaching tool.”

“An interesting outlook,” Tolfdir replied. “Well, I suppose we can try something practical. In continuing with our theme of safety, we’ll start with wards. Wards are protective spells that block magic. I’ll teach you all a ward, and we’ll see if you can successfully use it to block spells, all right?” He looked at me again and added, “Would you mind helping me with the demonstration? Are you at all familiar with ward spells?”

I suppose I deserved being singled out a second time. “Yes. I’ve used them before,” I said with a nod. I didn’t bother to mention that I almost never remembered to.

“Well, then this should be no problem at all for you. Please stand on that seal there. You others, please move aside.”

I stood where he indicated and readied a basic ward spell in my left hand.

“Now, cast the ward spell, and keep it up. You’ll have to keep your ward up, or else this won’t work. I don’t want to hurt you. Hold still. . . .”

He waited a few seconds after I had it up—to let it charge—then cast a fireball at me, which impacted harmlessly. “Excellent work! Well, I think this is a good start. Now, do any of you need me to teach you a ward spell?”

Roughly fifteen minutes later we were paired off, Brelyna (a Dunmer) with Onmund (a Nord) and me with J’zargo. J’zargo was strangely competitive in my opinion. Now, I realized that most people would see a Khajiit and automatically assume they’re addicted to skooma and traded in stolen goods. And for a lot of them that may be true, partly due to how they perceive the stuff. But I’d seen just as many other races do the same, so it was hardly fair. It was rather like how people see an Altmer and might automatically think Thalmor, but that’s also not guaranteed.

At any rate, J’zargo seemed strangely competitive, almost boastful, but it was interesting in its own way. We kept switching partners every so often, taking short breaks in between, and Tolfdir seemed happy enough that all four of us were proficient. Before he ended the session he said, “The College has undertaken a fascinating excavation in the ruins of Saarthal nearby. It’s an excellent learning opportunity and you’ll all be able to go. I’ll make sure a notice is posted in the Hall of Attainment to that effect. In the meantime keep practicing the spells you know, preferably in pairs, over the coming days.”

J’zargo seemed intent on firming up his aim and stayed there, using one of the permanent mage lights as a target. Onmund eyed him and gave a tiny nod, as though to say it was an excellent idea, but left moments later. Brelyna wandered off, muttering to herself. On that note I took my own departure, back to my door-less room, and set about unpacking. When that was complete I wandered down to the town, or what remained of it.

I was headed for the inn when I walked close enough to overhear two Nords arguing about money and drink. Snide comments about the College aside it sounded depressingly familiar. The male stormed off toward the inn, presumably to pour more gold into the proprietor’s hands in exchange for mead, and she just stood there, staring helplessly. It was horribly nosy of me, but I strolled over and attempted to find out what it was about by plastering a commiserating look on my face.

She launched into a rant about the conditions in Winterhold and how hard it was to earn any kind of coin—really, the only thing keeping her shop afloat was people who came to gawk or were curious about the College.

“You made a bad deal?” I prodded.

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “It was stupid of me. I shouldn’t have believed the story and just refused the trade. But I didn’t, and now I’m stuck with this worthless junk.”

Unfortunately, she wasn’t showing me the “junk” she referred to. “Oh. The story was that good?”

“Some line about this claw thing and Yngol Barrow. He said it was worth more than its weight in gold if I took it back there. Something about placing it back in Yngol’s chamber, I don’t know. What was I thinking? Even if it were true, I’m not setting foot in some ancient tomb, filled with who knows what. Do you want to see it?”

I thought about that briefly. The adventurer who sold it to her was probably either a coward who spooked at the slightest thing, or fled when he ran into something beyond his skill to handle. The claw itself sounded interesting enough, and would make for a good decoration if nothing else. A talking point, essentially. “Yes, actually,” I said, then followed her into her shop.

She went behind the counter and rummaged the shelves underneath for a moment, then placed it on the surface. It was exactly what she said, basically. A claw, admittedly a bit stylized, with a rosy patina to it and gem-like talons at the end of each claw. “I’ll take it off your hands,” I said.

“You will?” she said with undisguised relief, but then her expression hardened. “Fifty septims, but I’ll hold no responsibility at all if you go there and get yourself killed.”

I smiled and reached into the coin purse I’d brought along, pulling out the requisite amount. “I don’t have any idea if I’ll ever go there,” I said, “but I like the looks of it.” We made the exchange and I tucked the claw away, making a mental note about the barrow, then said, “I was wondering—do you carry any fabrics or related supplies?”

She raised a brow at me in confusion.

“I want to make a curtain of sorts. The door to my room is actually just the frame. I thought I could cobble something together and hang it up.”

“Oh, I see,” she replied. “I’ll have to look around and see what I have. I’m not sure how long that will take.”

“Well,” I allowed, “I was going to get something over at the inn, so I can check back in an hour or so?”

“That sounds fine,” she replied.

“Then I’ll see you in a bit,” I said, and headed to the inn.

I’d been given to understand that innkeepers were usually the first to get notices from the local Jarl regarding bounties because inns and taverns were where people usually all congregated at some point in the day, and I couldn’t imagine that the average Jarl wanted various townsfolk traipsing in and out of their halls to bother their steward.

I had forgotten to confirm it the day before so I did then with Dagur, the proprietor, ordered some mead, then found a seat and sat back to listen to the bard and any conversation. I’d gotten into town pretty late so I hadn’t spent much time in the common room. Unfortunately the place was nearly empty of anyone aside from the innkeeper’s family, so I soon left and wandered around town for a bit.

In the daylight it was much worse than I’d thought. There were half-razed buildings that no one had ever made an attempt to fix scattered around, most nearer to the College. The Collapse had really messed this place up. It was depressing and I could see why people didn’t spend much time here. On the other hand, if no one ever fixed what was left—

After I’d had my fill of the town I went back to the shop to see that Brina had stacked a number of things on the counter in preparation for my return. I was delighted to see several bolts of fabric, needles, a few wooden poles, and thread. After deciding what fabric I wanted I simply bought the entire bolt, along with the other things I need. I was just about to leave when a thought occurred to me, so I turned back and asked, “Do you have any metal bits that are otherwise useless? I didn’t see a blacksmith in town, so. . . .” She looked confused again so I added, “For weights in the hem at the bottom of the curtain, to keep it from being blown about every time the exterior door is opened.”

Apparently her memory of what she had on hand had been refreshed while looking for the things I had already purchased and she was able to move with surety toward a bin along one wall. Another session of haggling ensued, and then I returned to the College to begin my project in and around reading and practicing.

Several days later I noticed a parchment had been tacked up in the dining room upstairs. Tolfdir was letting us know that we would be going to Saarthal the next day—or at least, those of us who were willing. And despite knowing next to nothing about any of my fellow students, I figured they would all jump at the opportunity.

###### Under Saarthal  
Last Seed, 20th, 4E 201

The next morning a few hours after dawn we gathered at the front gate and followed Tolfdir down into town and off to the west, along a path up a hill between two of the buildings. Along the way we had to contend with wildlife taking exception to us walking through their territory, but with five mages on the trip it wasn’t much of a problem.

I rather liked that the people of Skyrim set cairns in place with remnants of fabric anchored between the stones. Considering how often it snowed that far north it could be very difficult to see where you were going and the flapping fabric was eye-catching enough to keep you to the established paths, even in conditions approaching a blizzard.

About an hour later we came upon the dig site itself. I hadn’t actually seen much of anything on my way here so this was new. It was an old, old ruin so the entrance being so far beneath the present surface was not a surprise.

Just outside Tolfdir stopped and said, “And here we are. As some of you may know, Saarthal was one of the earliest Nord settlements in Skyrim. It was also the largest. Sacked by the Elves in the infamous ‘Night of Tears’, not much is known about what happened to Saarthal. This is an exciting opportunity for us. To be able to study such an early civilization, and the magics they used. . . . Well, are there any questions before we begin?”

“What’s so important about this place?” J’zargo asked.

“We’re particularly interested in the prevalence of magical seals placed on the tombs here. It’s rather unlike anything we’ve encountered.”

J’zargo nodded as Brelyna asked, “What are we looking for aside from that?”

“Anything!” Tolfdir replied. “Anything at all that might be of interest. That’s why I adore this location. We have no idea what we’re going to find. And if, along the way, my message about the dangers of magic should happen to sink in for a few students, that would be a happy coincidence. Any other questions?”

I had none and Onmund stayed silent, so Tolfdir opened the doors and headed in. It did not open into an entryway or room, but rather a corridor, so it was several minutes walk before we emerged at the top of a deep room. There were stone pillars with flattened caps, around which were wooden ramps leading downward. Off to one side I could see a barred-off corridor, but no visible way to open it up.

“Ah, yes, here we are,” Tolfdir said. “Yvara, why don’t you see if you can assist Arniel Gane. He’s one of our scholars, here working on cataloging our finds. I expect he’d appreciate some help in locating any additional magical artifacts here in the ruins. Any enchanted items will do; the usefulness of the enchantment is irrelevant. If you find anything, the class can look it over. Arniel is deeper in, but you shouldn’t be able to get lost.”

I nodded and started down, but could hear him saying, “Now, let’s see. What shall we have the rest of you do? Brelyna, my dear, why don’t you search for warding magics? Anything designed to keep people out. Don’t interact with any, just identify them. Onmund, please search that area over there. See if you notice any . . . residual energies. Alive or undead. J’zargo. . . . Ah! Why don’t you verify that we’re the first ones here? Look for any amount of tampering with the tombs. All right, everyone. Let’s be careful, but have fun!”

I meandered through the area, dropping straight off the sides of things on whim, or jumping up instead of doing things properly, and eventually found Arniel. He was a twitchy sort of fellow. I let him know what Tolfdir said and he nodded, directing me north. Oddly, he was just standing there in an alcove, bent over a table in a contemplative pose. Never even looked at me. And there was nothing actually on the table but a lantern. Was there some mysterious and arcane knowledge to be found in the grain of the wood?

I, uh, left him alone with his table and headed north from him, scouting the area for anything with the subtle glow of enchantment. After locating three rings (a bit of focus revealed that they would fortify my health by a small amount) I saw an odd amulet in a shallow niche on the wall near a gate. As I grabbed it spears shot up and blocked the way I’d come in, imprisoning me.

Thankfully, Tolfdir showed up—possibly due to the noise—though it made me wonder where Arniel went. He was right there a short distance away just minutes ago! After I told Tolfdir what I’d done he suggested I wear the amulet to see if it caused any kind of reaction, and it did.

“Do you see that?” he said. “Some kind of resonance between you and the wall. It must be connected to the amulet! I wonder . . . what effect might your spells have?”

I turned back to the wall, prepping a fire spell, and let loose. The entire thing cracked like a dropped egg, the pieces falling to the floor, to reveal a passageway beyond. Well, it was more like a tunnel given its construction and how it looked to snake around. Its destruction also cause the spears to retract into the floor, so Tolfdir joined me and together we investigated. The passage eventually opened up into a more proper room and I was shocked when, upon entering and stepping near the table or altar there, a haze came over my sight and a figure appeared.

What he looked like I could not say due to the hooded robes he was wearing, but his height and what I could see of his face led me to believe he was Altmer. “Know that you have set in motion a chain of events that cannot be stopped,” he said. “Judgment has not been passed, as you had no way of knowing. Judgment will be passed on your actions to come, and how you deal with the dangers ahead of you. This warning is passed to you because the Psijic Order believes in you. You, mage, and you alone, have the potential to prevent disaster. Take great care, and know that the Order is watching.” And then he disappeared and the haze left.

I looked over to see Tolfdir’s reaction, but he just looked confused.

“What is the Psijic Order?” I asked.

He looked even more confused by the question, but readily enough answered, “They were a group of mages with a history that pre-dates the Empire. Very powerful, very secretive. No one’s seen them in well over a hundred years. They vanished, along with their sanctuary on the Isle of Artaeum. Why do you ask?”

“Well, one just visited, told me there was danger ahead.” I’ve read a fair amount of books, including history books, but I’m afraid the Psijic Order was not something I was familiar with.

“Danger ahead?” Tolfdir said skeptically. “Why that doesn’t make any sense at all. The Psijics have no connection to these ruins. The idea of one being here is fascinating, though, assuming it’s true, of course.”

I took mild exception to that, but said nothing.

“If nothing else I’d take it as a compliment. The Psijics have only ever dealt with those they feel worthy. Now, perhaps we should take a look inside these coffins. Please do be careful. Who knows what we’re going to find.”

So Tolfdir saw nothing at all. Had the Order member somehow placed the two of us into a . . . a time bubble of sorts, outside Tolfdir’s perception? I shook my head slightly and turned toward one of the sarcophagi, just in time for the lids to break free and draugr to emerge. Brilliant. I could see, even as I threw flames at one of them, that the center coffin had no back and led to another passageway.

Eventually, after much magic being tossed around (gleefully on my part), we came to another room, this one circular, and large enough to host a dozen or more sarcophagi that promptly cracked open to release the draugr inside. I am not ashamed to admit that I was only able to take down one of them and wound another before I was forced to flee back up the passageway to recover. Tolfdir was obviously a fair hand at Destruction spells because he easily downed the rest.

I decided to grab one of the bows and all of the arrows, just in case. It wasn’t as though I had unlimited magicka, after all. I would prefer a bound weapon, but those hadn’t been covered yet in classes. Now that I could look around, rather than looking out for something trying to kill me, I could see a door. It was barred off twice, once with more of those retractable spears and once with a gate, but to either side of the mess were dangling chains with loops of metal at the ends.

It seemed too easy, but perhaps it really was. I edged over to one of the chains, standing off to the side away from the spears, and pulled. The gate inside swung open. A pull of the other chain saw the spears retract, leaving the door accessible. Tolfdir said he wanted to investigate the room so I opened the door and continued on cautiously.

The next room held alcoves in the walls for the dead; it was more like a short hallway, actually, with four alcoves on each side. Some of them held skeletons and by the looks of things they were very old. Around the bend and up some stairs were three draugr. I managed to take out one of them with fire and was going for another when I very nearly stepped on a rune. I think it was fire, but didn’t get a good look as just as I had stepped away from it and was turning around I heard that noise again, the one the draugr make, and then an explosion.

The damn thing had sneaked up behind me in the time it took me to turn and triggered the rune, taking itself out with the blast. That left the third one, which I immediately shot fire at. Unfortunately I was forced to retreat to recover and we ended up playing a game of fire, dodge, run, pivot, fire, dodge, run. . . .

Beyond that, once I finally wore the thing down, were more alcoves. I also very nearly triggered another trap, but I was not moving down the center of the passage and was confronted with some very obvious holes in the wall edges, matched by ones on the other side. I stopped dead and started scanning the floor. There was a circular stone that was slightly convex and I got the feeling that stepping on it would be a bad idea, especially for anyone who was racing headlong down the corridor in their haste to get at the chest I saw up ahead.

I looted the chest of its pathetic contents and continued along, but pulled up short again when I saw that the alcoves up ahead were much more, uh, roomy in nature, and that some of the bodies in them were not dusty skeletons. To test a theory I threw some fire at one, and sure enough the skeevy draugr came “alive” on me, as well as his friend in an alcove across the way.

Amusingly, one of them went the wrong way, giving me time to not only burn the one who noticed me, but also to recover enough so I could finish it off, as well. Beyond that I came across yet more corpses and skeletons, but these were all inert and packed in much more tightly. To either side in the first part of the passage were odd, triangular pillars with bas-relief carvings on them. Puzzles, I supposed. A closer look revealed there were similar carvings behind and above them, nearly invisible in the alcoves. Any reasonable person would assume they were hints.

I also saw, up ahead and centered in the corridor, a lever, and I had to assume that pulling it without dealing with the pillars first would be a bad idea. With the clues right there if not overt I was able to get the pillars to turn to display what they should, and pulled the lever to open the way ahead. Simple, and it made me wonder if the ancient Nords were a bit lacking in the brains department.

Did you know you can set off runes with fire? At least shock runes were more easily spotted than fire ones. Anyway, more draugr, more rooms and passages. The carvings on the walls were subtle but skillfully worked. I guessed they had plenty of time to be artistic when they weren’t otherwise out bashing skulls in.

I wondered, though, about the chests I kept coming across. Tolfdir mentioned the Night of Tears, and I did vaguely recall reading about that. I guessed the people who once lived at Saarthal simply never had a chance to take everything with them? Except, I’d been moving through areas obviously meant to house the dead, so why would they be there? If there had been an alcove above with a skeleton . . . the chest signifying that this person was special in some way. . . .

I moved into a different sort of hallway or corridor. This one was wider and had carvings on the walls between the supports. One looked like a figure holding snakes in each hand. Well, the tails of them, anyway, as they were artfully done up and off to the sides. But at a glance I’d swear the figure was Khajiit, which is just silly for an old Atmoran structure. The figure in the carving across the way was wearing different armor and holding what appeared to be spears.

There were two more on the walls up ahead, and four more of those silvery carvings on dark stone that seemed to be there merely for decoration. Then a lever, more pillars, and more carvings above them as hints. More holes in the walls, too, which meant trouble. I was concerned because the hints were in plain sight, which made me think there was a catch.

When I turned one at random I saw it. Each pillar being turned forced at least one other pillar to turn. I ended up getting the two on the right to match their hints, then worked with the pillars on the left, since neither of those broke up the set on the right. A little experimentation saw the solution appear, so I pulled the lever and continued on, unharmed.

I had only just turned the corner and headed down the stairs when Tolfdir caught up with me. Funny, I had avoided stepping on that suspicious stone, but I guess Tolfdir wasn’t paying attention to my pointed actions. Next thing I knew I was being skewered by darts. And since my vision went a little funny I suspected a weak poison. Such a thrill. I carried on despite that and opened the door at the end of the passage.

I stopped, not because I was suddenly afraid of stairs, but because up ahead was a swirling mass of green-blue light. It made me feel a bit anxious. I shuffled forward and down a little to see that it was shaped into a cylinder, centered on a prodigious sphere. The view of the sphere was blurred by the ward—well, I assumed it was a ward—but it looked to share the same colours. Nothing jumped up and no casket lids cracked off with that distinctive sound, so I continued down the stairs.

The room opened up into two levels, though the upper level we were on was minimal, with stairs leading down on either side. The ward and sphere were central to the main room and I could see something back there behind it. Tolfdir was in raptures of discovery and scurried on down to the lower level. I started to follow him and stopped. Down there, hidden at first by the nature of the room, was a draugr. And it was no normal draugr, not if that helmet was anything to go by.

Tolfdir was enraptured by the ward and sphere, but even he realized his life was in imminent danger. Flames came from his hands to target the draugr and he was promptly sent tumbling away when the thing shouted. Shouted! What in Oblivion? I could actually see the sound made visible as it rippled toward the old man. It also sounded almost like I could understand what the thing was saying, but it was no language I was familiar with.

I shook my head when Tolfdir braced himself against a handy bit of stone and levered himself up, then cried, “It’s no use! I think the ward might be protecting it so I’m going to try to drain it. Keep that thing busy!”

Busy. Right. I readied my flames and started casting, to no real avail. The familiar I kept conjuring was blown away every time in a single hit. I was doing some damage, but it was miniscule, and the axe it kept swinging at me really hurt! Thank the gods Tolfdir was caught up in keeping the ward drained because I had no idea what to do aside from fall back to an old favorite, something I would normally never use around someone else.

I started to drain the draugr (I had already decided to call it a Deathlord in my mind) with my left hand, sucking whatever life force it had to replenish mine, all while shooting flames at it occasionally and running like Oblivion was after me. Up the stairs, around, down, around, and on and on. I was too busy “strategically retreating” to notice there was a staff on the table behind the thing’s “throne” or I might have tried using it.

It went down, eventually, and Tolfdir never did notice how I accomplished it. Once the rush ended and my heart settled back into its normal rhythms I went back down and checked around, finally spotting the staff. I also saw a piece of parchment, yellowed with age and grey with dust. It was a Writ of Sealing for a Jyrik Gauldurson.

> #### Be bound here, Jyrik, murderer, betrayer
> 
> #### Condemned by your crimes against realm and lord.
> 
> #### May your name and your deeds be forgotten forever
> 
> #### And the charm which you bear be sealed by our ward.

Well. I slung the staff across my back for safekeeping and quickly searched the corpse, then went to examine the sphere now that the ward was down. It was massive and an odd blue-green, darker in places, with deep, dark scores in an odd, organic curving pattern. The non-scored sections had some kind of writing or design, but neither I nor Tolfdir recognized it. The pedestal it floated above was more of the same. Convex around the outer edge of the matching material, concave in the middle.

“I’m not the only one seeing this, am I?” Tolfdir said wonderingly. “Why, this is utterly unique.”

I already expected he had no clue what it was, but I asked anyway. “What is this thing?”

“I have no idea! This is amazing. Absolutely amazing. The Arch-Mage needs to be informed immediately. He needs to see this for himself. I don’t dare leave this unattended. Will you return to the College and inform Savos of this discovery? Please, hurry.”

I looked around and couldn’t see anything else that bespoke danger, so I nodded. “What should I tell him?”

“Let him know that we’ve unearthed something. . . . Well, I’m not sure. Something unique, let’s say. It’s clearly magical in nature, but like nothing I’ve ever seen before. He should be most interested.”

“Will you be all right by yourself?” I pressed, thinking that Tolfdir was more than a little absentminded at the best of times.

“Oh, I think I’ll be fine. We seem to have eliminated the most pressing threat. It certainly seems that whoever placed this here intended for it to be well guarded. I wonder why. . . .”

I nodded again and went to check behind the sphere. I recalled that barred off archway on the way in and wondered if there was a way to it from here. As I went to pass the orb I heard humming, or something similar, and paused. The sphere itself was rotating slowly and I realized, fascinated simply looking at it, that those deep scores were more like seams. Sometimes I could see a blue light and it wasn’t just a reflection from below. That begged the question: what’s inside it?

I tore myself away and looked to the right; there _was_ a door back there. Through it and part way down the resulting passage I started to hear something, voices, but not like draugr. Almost . . . chanting. I came out into another room, more like a natural cave, really, and down below the ledge I was standing on was a strange curved structure against the far wall. It had writing on it that made no real sense to me.

One part, one section of the “words” was glowing an ethereal blue. As I got closer I saw streams of light reaching toward me and I have to admit it scared me, the light, the chanting—but I felt compelled to get closer. The strangest thing happened then. My sight went all hazy and blue. The sound of the chanting increased in volume. I felt—no, it was like a whisper in my head: Iiz—Ice.


	2. 1.2 The College of Winterhold

06042015

## 1.2

###### Under Saarthal  
Last Seed, 21st, 4E 201

On my way back to the college (oh, yes, someone had apparently stored a bunch of Jyrik’s things in a chest there by the wall with the word that I looted) I ran across some Legionnaires escorting a prisoner. But why? I fished out my map and looked at it in confusion. The only thing in the direction they were headed was Saarthal. Were they going to march that poor bastard, who was wearing mere rags, through the snow, past Saarthal, and. . . . I shook my head, put the map away, and kept going.

When I got back to the College I found Savos up in his quarters. I asked him about the Psijic Order, but aside from saying that one of them used to advise the Arch-Mage back when he was still an apprentice he only really mentioned that that was a long time ago, before all of them were recalled and Artaeum disappeared. I dutifully passed on Tolfdir’s message and headed back downstairs. In addition to other books I wanted to read, I needed to do a little research on Saarthal. But as I stepped into the entryway I was approached by Faralda.

“You might want to be careful,” she said in a hushed tone, her eyes flicking around as if to see if anyone was near enough to listen in.

“Eh?”

“Ancano is very interested in what goes on here at the College and I know you’ve just returned from Saarthal. Be careful of what you say to him.” She looked at me with meaningful intensity.

“I understand,” I replied quietly. Unfortunately Ancano could be found in all sorts of places. I suspected he wandered around listening to conversations and reported anything of the least interest back to his superiors. I considered heading into town to get away for a bit, but it had been a tiring day, so I returned to my room instead.

###### Hitting the Books  
Last Seed, 22nd, 4E 201

I managed to avoid Ancano and slip out of the College in the morning. As much as I wanted to hit the Arcanaeum it was asking for trouble. I thought, though I could have been mistaken, that Arniel had brought the other students back from the trip without any of them ever seeing the orb, so I was likely the only one Ancano could interrogate.

As soon as I got to town I clucked my tongue at Horse and set off to pillage the land for alchemical ingredients and burn anything that was presumptuous enough to attack me—and why _are_ wolves so damn hostile when there are plenty of rabbits and goats around? I saw three people in muted blue along the way, Stormcloak soldiers. One of the men was complaining about having to eat so much rabbit, but the woman just snorted and said it was better than working a field. I’m sorry, was it really such a hassle to also kill goats? Maybe the odd horker? Gods forbid, deer or elk? What a whiner.

I found another one of those odd curved walls near one of the passes in the area; it resonated in my head: Slen—Flesh. I wasn’t sure, but I thought it had some connection to the word I stumbled over at Saarthal. There were some hostile mages there I had to put down, and with the help of my familiar I managed, but the ward one kept using dragged things out (a win for Tolfdir, then, I supposed, regarding caution).

Nearby was a shrine—or at least, nearby in terms of sight as opposed to walking distance. I ignored it and headed down the side of the mountain and met back up with the road I had earlier disdained. It led me down past Windhelm, which I ignored in favor of heading south. There were plenty of jazbay grapes, creep cluster, and dragon’s tongue along the way, getting ever nearer to an area dominated by hot springs. I didn’t actually know a whole lot about alchemy, just enough to mix together a simple healing potion, but there was no reason not to collect things. 

The hot springs looked supremely inviting given that it started drizzling cold rain and the sky had gone a leaden grey. I found myself thinking it’d be nice if the College taught us a spell to summon flowers and the like to us, but that was just being plain lazy. As evening was coming on (I estimated it was about an hour or two until dark) I ran across a party of two, apparently headed to Solitude.

“Come along, no more stops,” the finely-dressed man was saying in a snotty Imperial sort of voice. “We need to find our way to Solitude.”

I arched a brow, wondering why in Oblivion they were on this side of the country, and why they weren’t mounted. They were nobles, right? They could surely afford horses. Those clothes practically screamed for every bandit in the area to come and attack.

“Why are we even going to a wedding at this far flung end of the Empire anyway?” the woman complained.

“I told you, it’s the wedding of Vittoria Vici, an extremely well connected merchant with the East Empire Company,” he explained, not at all patiently. “The Emperor’s cousin? Remember? Hopefully these gifts will put us in her good graces, secure that important deal, and lead the way to an audience with the Emperor.”

I just stood there confused. Even I had a horse! True, I didn’t often ride him because I used him more like a pack mule, but still. Why were they walking through Skyrim, without the guide they so obviously needed, and through some of the coldest parts? They had a very long walk west once they got closer to Windhelm.

###### Last Seed, 23nd, 4E 201

I had spent an uneasy night outside one of those ubiquitous Nord tombs, but I had more shelter than just my tent because of the entryway, which was covered, and Horse was there to wake me if necessary. He’s an awful coward, but he does alert me to danger, if only because of his frightened squeals and subsequent clattering (or thudding) of hooves while racing off to a perceived spot of safety.

If I was going to roam around like this trying to improve my magic (and avoid Ancano for a while) I really ought to consider having some sort of companion. At any rate, nothing happened, no alarms in the night, so I simply packed up and moved on, eventually running across M’aiq the Liar, a Khajiit from a long line of the same name.

“M’aiq can travel fast across the land. Some lazy types take carriages. It is all the same to M’aiq,” he said to me conversationally, then followed up with, “Too much magic can be dangerous. M’aiq once had two spells and burned his sweet roll.”

I blinked at him as he wandered away. That poor sweet roll!

Some time later I bent down to pick some flowers and was hit in the face with some glutinous substance that stung and made my vision go funny. I wiped it away and looked up. There, across the river, was a damn frostbite spider, spitting at me. Actually, after I scuttled to the side and crouched behind a wall, I peered around the edge and saw it was _in_ the water. I ended up chasing the thing a ways down, dodging venom, to kill it off. I really do love flinging fire around, which is a funny thing for a vampire to say.

Up ahead—was not good. There was a tower at the side of the road, a bridge of sorts leading across the river from the second level, and a matching tower on the other side. I could see people patrolling the bridge and moving around on the rocks over there, but there were no banners of any kind. An outpost would have announced itself, so they were probably bandits, which meant one was likely out front to confront travelers.

‘I can try sneaking around the back, under the bridge,’ I mused, eyeing the situation, then clucked my tongue and pointed so that Horse would know to wait. I could try just galloping past the place, but if there was trouble I’d rather be on my feet and let Horse run off to safety.

I tried, in my best sneaking effort, to sidle around the backside of the tower, keeping an eye on the fellow patrolling the bridge. I wanted to wait until he was headed back across the river to sneak the remainder of the way. Unfortunately, one of the men on the rocks that side spotted me and sent up the alarm. At that point I stood up and sprinted back up to the road and down it, but whoever was out front let out a frustrated cry and ran after me.

I ended up having to stop and spin around so I could blast her until she dropped down. I was angry—at being spotted and at being followed—so I took a quick look around and then advanced on her. She could beg for mercy all she wanted, but she had pushed this confrontation and I would finish it. I wrapped an arm around her and wrenched her up so I could sink my fangs into her neck and drained her, dropping her to the ground when I was done. Then I nipped over behind some rock jutting from the cliff face and crouched to make myself smaller.

I knew for certain that the bandits had lost interest when Horse came galloping up to me, the silly thing. He’s good about finding me once the danger has passed. I got up and stripped anything of value off the bandit and packed it onto Horse, then continued down the road. If I hadn’t already known I was moving into warmer territory I would on seeing tundra cotton and lavender. As it was my poor horse smelled like an apothecary. Off in the distance I could see what I thought was Dragonsreach, the Jarl’s “palace” in Whiterun. I supposed I could stop in briefly, though it did remind me just how far I’d wandered from Winterhold.

After dealing with a wolf that came out of nowhere and snarled at me I was distracted by tons of butterflies, all colours imaginable, and then by a standing stone. What was it about these things and necromancers or crazed mages? Perhaps I was indulging in a bit of hyperbole there, but the two I’d found thus far had been dangerous. After I dealt with the mage I stepped up to the stone to see what it was.

Ah, the Ritual Stone. I could see why a necromancer might be lurking here, but I shall pass on the “blessing” of this stone. Should I need to raise the dead to do my bidding there’s a perfectly serviceable spell for that. On the heels of that I wondered if perhaps I should ask someone at the College about why my familiar sounded so asthmatic. Could spirits have colds? Lung disorders?

I had finished stripping the mage of any valuables when I realized one of the books I’d grabbed was unfamiliar to me, and at that, a spell tome, something called Earthbound Weapon. Perhaps it was some kind of variant on bound weapons? Whiterun was so close; I would go and rent a room at the inn so I could do some reading in safety.

Down the hill a ways I saw a man standing there with three bodies in the ground around him. The man was holding an axe and was already facing me, his threatening posture saying he intended to kill. Was he high off battle and looking to blindly avenge his comrades? A closer look showed he wore Stormcloak armor possibly, but that might not mean anything. I could not see the bodies well enough to make a comparison, not from the angle I was at.

He charged and I blasted him with bursts of fire, my familiar flanking and nipping at his sides and back. Once he was down I moved close enough to look over the scene. The corpses wore either Stormcloak or Imperial armor and it looked like they had killed each other in a battle between sides. The fellow I just fried must have been a scavenger I interrupted. Farther down the road I could see a number of guards patrolling. Did they hear nothing of what had happened?

I rifled through the bodies looking for any information on their identities, but found nothing. The scavenger I stripped down and dumped the goods next to the one poor soldier, then rolled the body off the path and down the side of the hill. Perhaps it was stupid of me to care, but the soldier did not deserve to have his body lying there, only in his smalls; so I struggled to get his armor back on him. These men died for their beliefs.

When I did manage to get down to the bottom of the hill I stopped the first guard I saw and pointed back up the road, telling him what I’d passed by. He promised to see about the bodies, so I continued on, passing a meadery. I’ve had plenty of mead in my time so I wondered what sort they made. Some of it is far too dry and unsweet, some of it is much too sweet. I like mine somewhere in the middle, with a silky feel to it on my tongue.

Up ahead were farms and—a giant? I had no idea they attacked settlements in Skyrim. I thought they all ranged around their camps keeping on eye on their mammoths, warning passersby not to get too close. This one must be a renegade, or desperate, or things were just that different here. There was a group of people there (no, not the cowering farm-folk) attacking it head on, which was brave of them, I suppose. Nords are generally funny that way. This going out in a blaze of glory thing was a bit foreign to me. Even more so when one of the women got close enough to reproach me for not helping them.

“Ah, it looked like you had it well under control,” I replied, wondering if the woman was blind to the fact that I was prancing around in mage robes and really not the sort to charge on in screaming and flailing about with a blade.

“Perhaps so. But a true warrior would have relished the opportunity to take on a giant. That’s why I’m here with my Shield-Brothers.

My brow went up in disbelief. Either she was not a typical Nord who disdained mages, or she was riding too high on victory to pay attention. “Shield-Brothers?”

“An outsider, eh? Never heard of the Companions? An order of warriors. We are brothers and sisters in honor. And we show up to solve problems if the coin is good enough.”

“Oh, I see,” I replied. Mercenaries.

“If you’re of a mind to join the Companions,” she added, “you’ll have to talk to Kodlak Whitemane up in Jorrvaskr. The old man’s got a good sense for people. He can look in your eyes and tell your worth. If you go to him, good luck.” Then she turned back to her companions and walked toward them.

I blinked and glanced down at my familiar. “Is she nuts?” I whispered. She also had an odd scent, but she had not gotten close enough for me to figure out what it reminded me of. After they trundled off I approached the farm-folk to see if they were all right. The owner, a Severio Pelagia, looked a bit shaken up, but also frustrated by the damage to his crops. Every so often these fits of helpfulness would come over me; I found myself giving him a hand picking vegetables and he gave me some coin for the assistance. “Honest gold for honest work,” he said. I think I inadvertently made a friend.

He waved as I left and I gave a smile in return. There were stables to my right, a tower ahead to the left with a house not far before it, and a fort in the distance. I walked by the stables and started up the road to Whiterun, but was interrupted by a Redguard in fancy dress sneering at me. “Do you get to the Cloud District very often?” he asked in an affected, nasally voice. “Oh, what am I saying. Of course you don’t.” He continued on as I stopped and turned.

‘I may have to kill this man,’ I thought. ‘Sneak into his house with my admittedly poor skills and drain him dry as he sleeps.’ I spied the house again, thinking it might belong to the Redguard, but he walked in the opposite direction down the road. It was really pretty. ‘It won’t cause any harm to go look before I enter Whiterun,’ I thought.

I got close enough to see it was rather swanky. It had its own stables and there was a smaller building out back, but then a wolf loped up, chasing a deer, and it quickly decided I was a better prospect. Perhaps it thought I couldn’t run so fast. As it went down to the crackle of flames I saw a ruin atop the mountain behind the house. Perhaps at some point I would investigate. For now the house was of interest.

So. Stables, an apiary, a little covered area on the side with planters full of various growables, a little building back there that could be anything, and—‘Oh, wow,’ I thought. ‘A bathing pool complete with water coming from a hole in the rock above? Whoever owns this place must really like their luxury.’ There was a more proper garden up front with various vegetables and wheat, as well, and whoever managed to get a juniper tree to grow there had my admiration. The stable could hold three beasts and there was a fenced in area with a cow and a goat, and chickens wandered around clucking importantly.

Back at the front I noticed a piece of parchment propped up on a narrow ledge next to the door. No one was around so I sidled over to read it.

> According to legend, long before this home was built, a lost and weary traveler came to this spot of land to give blessings upon Kynareth’s shrine. While the gods rarely show favoritism to mortals, She became fond of this man.
> 
> For years he traveled the lands, with renewed strength of Kynareth’s love, and spoke of Her beauty and good nature. For this man, She blessed this spot of land with Her divine power, where he and his kin lived many generations.
> 
> His line has died out now and this home is abandoned. Locked to those who aren’t worthy.
> 
> If you seek this land as your own, visit the Shrine of Kynareth here in the flower nursery. There it will be decided if you are worthy.
> 
> I will be watching.

All right.

I took a few steps back and looked at the house. I was not a particularly religious person. I didn’t think I was particularly blasphemous, either. I was not always the nicest of people; some would call me a monster. But, the worst that would happen if I wasn’t acceptable was nothing, I hoped, so I was willing to take the chance. I headed around the side into the nursery, as the note called it, despite it having more than just flowers.

After sending up a brief prayer I stepped back and prepared to leave, and was subsequently surprised when a key appeared and hovered in front of my face. What? I was acceptable? I reached out for the key after a moment, hardly daring to believe, but it easily slipped into my hand. “Thank you,” I whispered, mostly to the shrine because it was the only visible symbol of Kynareth.

I stood there for a bit longer, just dumbfounded, then finally went to the front door and carefully fit the key into the lock. It turned easily and slipped back out, and I opened the door to see a lovely home. I went inside and started looking around. There off to my right was a little area with a chair, plus some books atop a cabinet. Before me was a table with chairs enough for six. To my left was a kitchen area with a cooking spit and stew pot, plus a baking oven, and storage for goods. One side even had ethereal wisps coming from it and I wondered if it was icy cold.

Straight ahead I could see doors to either side on the short hallway and a grouping of chairs around a table. On the far wall was a fireplace with more chairs. I decided to start with the books and moved right. One of them looked like a journal, so I opened that first.

> Ah, so you are worthy. What makes you worthy? Only Kynareth knows, in all Her ancient wisdom. She has decided you are, and so I follow Her will. Welcome to your new home, the Elysium Estate. This house and the exterior grounds are full of Kynareth’s blessings, which allow plants to grow in the dimmest light and the strangest of places.
> 
> As to who I am? I am The Gardener. I have been the caretaker of these grounds for many years . . . until recently. We all must go in the end, and I had a full life. My last task was to leave the worthy one this journal. This home has been left to you, the one Kynareth deemed worthy, and I will take my leave. But you can visit me out back, if you’d like.
> 
> #### ~ The Gardener

Out back? Wait, was this Gardener person referring to the little stone plaque on the opposite side of the house from the nursery? Was that a grave, and if so, who had buried him there? Creepy. Or maybe Kynareth arranged for it in return for his service? That was . . . actually a comforting thought. I set the journal down and set about exploring.

It was awfully far from the College and it wasn’t as though I could afford to live here properly yet, but given that it had the eye of Kynareth on it I suspected it’d be safe enough for me to store some things. I could see plenty of furniture already, but it might be that I’d have to arrange for certain things to be delivered. I fully intended to learn enchanting properly at some point, after all.

The door to the left led to what I’d call a main or master bedroom. It had a desk, a ton of shelves for books or decorative items, niches for scrolls and notes and supplies, plus a lovely double bed. It also had its own bathing pool. A hole in the wall should be the thing to deliver water and a drain at the center of the pool could empty it. A bit of magic to heat the water would handle the rest.

The opposite room had five beds and another bathing pool. I would have expected to perhaps see some evidence of children, but there was none. Each bed had a chest at the end. Perhaps the children of the family had grown up and put away childish things? Or perhaps the room had been used for trusted guards or traveling companions? And on that thought, should I ever come across someone to travel with, seeing if they could enter the house would be one way to know more about them, without prying, and they would have a bed to sleep in if necessary. I found a loft. It was a bit cramped, but it’d be a nice bit of privacy. There was a small bookcase up there, a set of sleeping furs, and some shelving.

I realized once I went down into the cellar that I would not need to be purchasing anything. Straight ahead from the doors were an arcane enchanter and an alchemy lab, as well as storage space. I opened the doors to the right and saw an entire smithy awaiting me as well as storage for weapons and armor. Back through the other doors—well, I must say I’d never seen so many weapon racks in one place at once, nor armor stands. There were even displays on the walls in places where I could hang weapons or other things.

Kynareth had her eye on the place so I trusted in that and went back out to unload Horse of anything I wouldn’t need during travel and started putting things in their proper places. I noticed during the last trip that it was close to dark, so I would be staying at Elysium for the night, but that wouldn’t stop me from visiting the city and seeing what it had to offer.

A guard at the gates leaned in confidentially when I got close enough and said, “I’m telling you, I heard it. Howling. Those werewolf tales are true.”

I blinked and stepped away a few paces. Did the man not know just how many damn wolves were out there? I killed I don’t know how many on my way down from Winterhold, simply because the things just wouldn’t leave me alone. A fleeting thought of Kynareth made me wonder if I should be using calming spells instead of frying them, but. . . .

Then the other guard leaned toward me. “They say Ulfric Stormcloak murdered the High King . . . with his voice! Shouted him apart!”

Gods, guard duty must be horrifically boring if the guards ramble at anyone passing by. “That’s terrible,” I murmured, then slipped through the gates before either could say anything more. A smithy and attached shop was right there at the entrance and I noticed a sign for an inn or tavern as well. I could go left or straight ahead, and since it looked like houses up the path to the left I went straight.

As I walked I overheard a conversation between who I assumed was the blacksmith and some man arguing over an order of weapons for the Legions, but I paid it no mind. Barely beyond them another guard wandered by to confide, “One of the guards said he saw a mage appear out of thin air. Claimed it was one of those Psijic Monks. Man’s been hitting the skooma, I say.”

A faint frown creased my forehead. Why would a Psijic Monk be anywhere near Whiterun? Was there some secret cabal of wizards in the area doing experiments on things man or mer was not meant to know? I kept going and hit a marketplace with stalls, two shops, and another inn or tavern. I slipped into the shop with a sign of “Belethor’s” and was greeted heartily by a fellow Breton, but I confess I paused in doubt when he cheerfully told me he’d sell his sister if he had one. What a slimy little skeever.

I warily checked over what he had for sale and purchased a few small things, including a glass jar with holes in the lid. I knew exactly what I wanted to do with it. As I was leaving his assistant eyed my robes and pronounced that I must be a mage from up at the College! Gods help me.

Outside I saw three people arguing, two Nord males and a Nord female. Seemed her son was a Stormcloak and was missing, and she believed the two men, obviously aligned with the Imperials, knew where he was. The mockery and sarcasm they hurled at her was just brutal. Whiterun might nominally be Imperial, but I could see it’s divided in truth, just like the civil war itself has divided kith and kin.

Arcadia’s Cauldron boasted an Imperial shopkeep, who seemed rather defensive at first about her race, but then she gave me a searching look and said, “You look rather pale. It might be Ataxia. I’d be happy to sell you a remedy if you like.” Pfft. I gave her a thin smile and browsed her wares, picking up a few rare things.

“May I use your alchemy table?” I asked and moved to it when she agreed. I only wanted to mix up a couple of healing potions as a just in case, forgetting for a moment I actually owned the tools myself now.

Arcadia seemed to want to talk. She confided that she had lived in Whiterun for twenty years now and still couldn’t wrap her head around Nord customs, nor appreciate so many of them saying “Skyrim is for the Nords!” so often.

I started to just nod to show I had heard her, but reconsidered. “Some people seem to forget that Skyrim is still a part of the Empire and the Empire tends not to be racist like that.”

“Exactly right!” she agreed.

Mind, I felt I was bending the truth a little for I surely don’t recall seeing any Legionnaires out on the road who were Argonian or Khajiit, but that might be a cultural thing. I knew people of all races used to fight in the arena for coin and glory and citizens cheered madly for their team regardless of what race the combatants were.

I straightened up and shoved the potions in my pouch and smiled at Arcadia. “Well, it’s getting late and I’m sure you want to close. Thank you.”

“Come back anytime,” she invited.

It was true dark when I stepped outside so I headed to the inn I saw. I figured since I had wandered so far from the College I might as well see if there was any interesting gossip.

“You’re that one from the College. Heard about you,” the lady behind the counter said, shocking me. “I’m Hulda, by the way.”

“Heard about me?” I parroted. “How could anyone have heard about me?”

“Oh,” she said, “maybe I’m assuming. We’ve all heard about the College excavating at Saarthal. You look a bit like one of descriptions that were passed on.”

I frowned. Descriptions? What was there to describe? Mage robes, a hood that shaded the face, and odd eyes? “Uh, right. Yeah.” Already having heard some gossip that made me feel uneasy I asked her what she had for sale and ended up buying a selection of wine, mead, and ale. I would take it back to Elysium to sample. No sense in getting tipsy or worse in town when I had a house I could sleep at.

A little girl caught my eye as she seemed more than a little dirty and really did not appear to fit in with the other patrons. “What’s your story?” I asked her.

Turns out she was a beggar. Her parents were dead, aunt and uncle inherited the farm, and she was kicked out as being useless. A beggar in Whiterun advised her how to go on. Sound enough advice this far south, I supposed, but it would be better if someone would take the child in. Rather than simply accept that I bought her a meal, a room for the night, and gave her advice of my own.

“Look, Arcadia seems like a nice enough woman. Start gathering ingredients here in town, or even within sight of the town walls. You can sell them to her to get the coin for a room and food. Maybe even start learning how to make potions. There’s also nothing wrong with helping the farmers with their crops. Even I’ve done that and so far they’ve all seemed grateful for the help and they will pay some coin. There’s no reason for you to beg, Lucia. You will have to be careful with any money you earn, though. Don’t be frivolous.”

“Can’t you adopt me?” Lucia asked, almost begged.

I sighed and shook my head. “I’m a student; I sleep in what amounts to a dorm or barracks. You try this, instead of begging. I know, you’re a child and shouldn’t have to support yourself. Times aren’t easy and too many people are caught up in the war. If you can learn to be self-sufficient enough you’ll be learning something for life.”

Lucia’s expression drooped, but she nodded. “You’re still really nice,” she offered.

I smiled. “I’m going to give Hulda enough for a week of room and board, but I want you to promise me to get working on this idea, okay? Don’t run yourself into the ground, but work hard and earn your way by something other than begging.”

Lucia jumped up and hugged me. “I will, I promise!”

Once I finished my meal I spoke with Hulda, telling her of the deal and handing over a pouch of coin, then headed outside to look around some more. Up from the marketplace was a huge dead tree, a temple, a mead house (a nearby guard informed me it was Jorrvaskr, the place that woman had mentioned), a statue of Talos, and the way up to the Jarl’s palace.

I would have to check it out later, during the day, as I recalled someone saying there was a court wizard in residence who might have spell books for sale. On my way out of town I stopped at the first inn, which turned out to be just a tavern. The Bannered Mare was much more lively in comparison, but perhaps it was racism at work? The Drunken Huntsman was run by two Bosmer and sold hunting supplies, food, and drink. There was a Dunmer sellsword sitting quietly at one of the tables and I made a note of her.

The walk back to Elysium was pleasant and I was able to capture a firefly in my jar. The little thing would be fine living on pollen and given how many flowers I picked in the course of a day he should never lack for any. I glanced back at the city before I stepped into the house. I could have let Lucia live there, but it was outside of town and she would have no supervision of any kind. For all I knew she could burn the place down by accident. No, another solution would need to be found there.


	3. 1.3 The College of Winterhold

06042015-07042015

## 1.3

###### Hitting the Books  
Last Seed, 24th, 4E 201

The day dawned bright and sunny and I was happy that doing my further shopping would be unhindered by rain. A Khajiit caravan had arrived during the night and set up shop near the stables so I stopped to talk and see what was available for sale. Ri’saad was a personable fellow, but unfortunately the things he had I wanted to buy would have made a dangerous dent in my funds. I frowned unhappily. “I am sorry, my friend,” I said. “I’m just not flush enough to afford what I really want, but I am definitely keeping you in mind for when I have more. What circuit do you run?”

“Ah, this one goes between here and Markarth.”

“All right. I’ll be on the look out. Warm sands,” I said and started to turn away. That was when I noticed a non-Khajiit in the encampment and went up to him. Turned out he sold spell tomes so I happily rifled through his collection. They weren’t cheap. They were, however, a lot easier on the purse than the enchanted jewelry that Ri’saad had, so I bought a few and tucked them away.

In town I went straight to Dragonsreach. “I heard,” I said to one of the guards posted outside, “that there’s a court wizard here who has spell tomes for sale?”

“Aye,” he said, “Farengar Secret-Fire.”

Nords had the strangest names. “And I can just go on in?”

He nodded and opened the door for me, a courtesy I had not expected. I thanked him and entered, then asked the first person I saw, a servant, where to find him. I was shortly in his little office inquiring about tomes. Farengar was a bit of a skeever himself. Every word out of his mouth implied that those around him were mentally deficient, overly muscular, and good only for fighting, feasting, and . . . wenching.

He also seemed convinced that everyone wanted to speak with him about the ongoing war. After I had picked a few books out and paid for them I asked him a question about the war just to see his expression, then laughed lightly and took my leave.

There was a priest standing in front of the Talos statue proselytising, exhorting the people of Whiterun to move against the Imperials who enforced the will of the Thalmor, and the Thalmor themselves. Something told me he wasn’t going to get much when he screamed out things like, “Talos the mighty! Talos the unerring! Talos the unassailable! To you we give praise! We are but maggots, writhing in the filth of our own corruption! While you have ascended from the dung of mortality, and now walk among the stars!”

Still, I was curious to see what he had to say so I approached and asked him what he could tell me about Talos.

“In mortal life, Talos was a Nord possessed of unmatched tactical skill, limitless wisdom, and the power to see into men’s hearts. Talos mastered the power of the Voice, and with it he united the lands of men into a great Empire. In southern lands, he was known by the name Tiber Septim. Here in Skyrim, we honor him by his proper Nord name. So great was his reign in life, when he ascended to the heavens he was made lord of the Divines. If you want to know more, I'm sure you can find any number of tomes on the subject.”

I was sure I could, especially if when I got back Ancano was no longer looking to interrogate me. Heimskr made it sound as though Talos had taken over for Akatosh, though. Rather than comment directly I asked if he had ever been arrested for his open worship.

“Oh yes, many times. But mighty Talos was my keeper, my shield against the heresy of the south! If not for Talos, and a few modest bribes paid to the right jailors, why, I would not be standing before you today, resplendent in my faith!”

Okay then. I thanked him for answering my questions and wandered off a little faster than I had approached. Yeah, Talos helped those who helped themselves? I walked so fast I almost walked right into a Redguard couple having an argument. Long story short she was angry with him for wanting to go after some sword bandits had stolen and threatened to take their child and leave if he did. I adjusted course and kept right on walking. You do not get in the middle of an argument like that.

Having done what I came for I exited the city and decided I might as well make the circuit on my way back to Winterhold. Horse joined me as I passed the stables and walked with me as I picked flowers along the way. I did learn something important, though. When stopped by a group of drunken revelers who offer to share some Honningbrew mead with you, do not counter-offer with Black-Briar mead unless you want to be accused of trying to poison people and have said people march off in a huff.

Later on I witnessed two Redguard men harassing a Redguard woman, who was very unhappy with them trying to haul her off somewhere. But then one of the men said she didn’t have the “scar”, whatever that meant. I didn’t stop to inquire, actually.

I arrived at Rorikstead some time later; it was a typical enough village. There was a farm a bit beyond that and then the road curved down a steep hill. I wasn’t yet part way down when I heard a bandit making promises he had no right to make. What is it about bandits and warning their prey? The guy was dead before he realized what had happened and his “friends” were almost as easy. Idiocy of that sort annoyed me and only proved they were little better than food. To that I end I drained their blood, mixed it with a few ingredients I always kept on hand, and stored it in bottles for later.

Long past that point I ran into another bandit encampment. They had a rickety wooden bridge over a gap between two outcroppings of rock and even from where I stood I could see the bins holding rocks ready to be released on an unwary passerby. I scowled and looked around, then mounted Horse and cut across to the side and plowed through a shallow section of the nearby stream. I felt annoyed enough that I stayed mounted and made it to Dragon Bridge before full dark. While I didn’t need to worry about being half blind at night I did try to mostly fit in amongst the usual sorts.

I stopped at the inn for the night and bespoke a room. I had intended to stay out in the common room for a bit reading, but one of men there was extremely unfriendly. Some of the people there were very uncomfortable around strangers, it seemed. I ended up in my room instead, learning new spells, and feeling irritation that there were no damn doors. At least the room I had was within easy sight of the proprietor so there was someone keeping an eye on things.

###### Last Seed, 25th, 4E 201

I was up even before dawn was really established and ready to be on the road again. Outside a guard eyed me up and down and said snidely, “Let me guess—someone stole your sweet roll.”

I blinked at the comment and then again as tongues of pink lightning reached down from the sky and transformed the guard into that very thing. A look around showed that nobody seemed to have noticed, so I picked up the sweet roll and tucked it away carefully—didn’t want it to get squished. Perhaps Sheogorath was touchy about comments like that?

Solitude seemed like the place to visit next, and I was trying to be good about sticking to the roads, but I heard a dog barking and saw something in the woods, so I diverted and found a shack. Inside was a man’s corpse. On a nearby table was a journal I read out of curiosity. The poor bastard. The dog, Meeko, had been his, and a faithful beast at that. It wasn’t having any of my attempts at friendship, though, so I continued on, got distracted again, and ended up fighting some spiders and mudcrabs.

The next thing I knew I was almost to Morthal, somehow having come at it from the north. I breezed through, not interested in stopping, and found the road again heading east. Along the way some stupid Redguard called me a milk drinker. When I told him to back off he attacked. I admit he was tasty. There was no one around to witness me draining him, so at least he served some use. And he wouldn’t be needing any of those things he was wearing or carrying.

Another distraction had me haring off course and I ended up staring down at a Dwemer ruin infested with bandits. I walked lightly along the roofs and spied on the people there; they had no idea. I could have picked them off all easily. Instead I left and found the road again, and this time ran into an Orsimer who wanted a “good death”. I was starting to think the people in Skyrim were just plain crazy.

The Orc was old, you see, and he rambled on about his reasons, but I wasn’t much interested until several yards away when I remembered one of the spells I had just recently learned: Doppelganger. I backtracked and agreed to help him out. He sounded almost desperate as it was and the sheer number of dead wildlife around him added to the effect. The doppelganger was a sort of ghostly copy of him and fought as well as he did. I thought it was all very poetic when the Orc died.

Eventually I made it to Dawnstar and stopped at the inn. It was getting close to sunset, and while I wasn’t especially tired it was as good a place as any to take a break. That may have been a mistake. I walked in on a bunch of townsfolk speaking with a priest—Erandur they called him—who was pleading with them. “Everyone, please. I’m doing what I can to end these nightmares. In the meantime, all I ask is you remain strong and put your trust in Lady Mara.”

I sighed. Nightmares had taken hold of the town. Either I needed to see if I could help or I needed to leave and push on to the College. Sleeping in Dawnstar sounded like a very uncomfortable prospect. The townsfolk dispersed so I approached and asked, “What’s going on?”

He seemed slightly shocked that an outsider was asking, but readily enough said, “The entire town is being plagued by horrible nightmares. They’re in serious danger, but I’m afraid there’s little I can do about it.”

That sounded like a plea for assistance to me.

“These dreams are manifestations created by the Daedric Lord Vaermina,” he continued. “She has an awful hunger for our memories. In return, she leaves behind nightmares, not unlike a cough marks a serious illness. I must end her terrible influence over these people before the damage becomes permanent.”

“Why would she want memories?” I asked.

“Who can say? Perhaps she collects them for display like works of art in a nonsensical art gallery. Whatever the case may be, her intentions are far from benevolent.”

“And you expect to solve the problem, how? I mean, you just said there was little you can do about it.”

“I need to return to the source of the problem, to Nightcaller Temple. Perhaps you’d be willing to assist me in that regard?”

Say what now? I pressed him on that, saying, “Return? What exactly have you been doing up there, then?”

He looked uneasy at the question. “I’ve already said too much. If anyone overhears what we’re saying, it could start a panic. I would simply ask that you trust me and help me end Dawnstar’s nightmares.”

I just knew there was something he wasn’t telling me. His breathing, his heartbeat, his scent—all of it told a story he wasn’t even aware of. Still, he seemed sincere, so I agreed to help.

“Mara be praised! Nightcaller Temple is only a short walk from Dawnstar,” he said. “Come, we must hurry.”

Indeed it was not far, though the going was steep. Along the way he said, “The tower on that hill is our destination. People around here call it the Tower of the Dawn. I’m not familiar with the tower’s history, but it was deserted for quite a long time before Nightcaller Temple was established inside. When the temple was active the priests would rarely be seen in Dawnstar; they preferred to live a solitary existence. The temple’s been abandoned for decades now. Ironic isn’t it . . . a ruin within a ruin? There’s a small shrine to Mara I established inside the tower’s entry hall. I was hoping to seek spiritual guidance from her. Perhaps my prayers were answered and your reason for stumbling across Dawnstar is more than a mere coincidence. Follow me, it’s this way. It feels good to finally have a chance to help these people. Helplessly watching them suffer’s been difficult.”

There were some trolls waiting near the entrance, easily killed, but before we went inside he said, “Years ago, this temple was raided by an Orc war party seeking revenge. They were being plagued by nightmares just like the people of Dawnstar.”

“And do you know if they succeeded?” I asked, curious to see just how much he actually did know and what he would actually say.

“No,” he replied, his body language becoming shifty again. “Knowing they could never defeat the Orcs, the priests of Vaermina released what they call ‘The Miasma’, putting everyone to sleep.”

Right. Amazing how he would know that. Call me cynical, if you will. “What is this Miasma?”

“The Miasma was created by the priests of Vaermina for their rituals. It’s a gas that places the affected in a deep sleep. Because the rituals would lasts for months or even years, the Miasma was designed to slow down the aging process.”

I sighed quietly, trying not to show my reaction overtly. “You make it sound like it’s dangerous.”

“I’m concerned that when this place is unsealed, the Miasma will dissipate and they’ll awaken; both Orcs and priests alike.”

I frowned. “Sounds to me like they’d be ripe for the picking if they’re waking up from a long sleep. But still, that doesn’t explain the danger I keep hearing in your voice. Is the gas itself dangerous?”

“Sadly, yes,” he replied. “The longer an individual is exposed to the Miasma, the more the mind can become damaged. Those who’ve been under the effect of it for extended periods of time have been known to lose their minds entirely. In some cases, a few never awoke at all.”

My lower lip found a place between my teeth as I worried it in thought. The more I heard the more I was convinced this priest of Mara had once been a priest of Vaermina, one from this very temple. I had a hard time believing that there was a book somewhere easily available that spoke all about the rituals and rites of Vaermina’s priests. Erandur was a Dunmer, which meant he could easily be old enough for that to be true. It was also possible that he was neglecting to be entirely honest with me for fear that I would turn around and leave. “All right, let’s go.”

There was no obvious exit from the room aside from the “front” door. A shrine was off to one side, various other minor amenities, but no doors or halls. Erandur went straight to the back and cast at the far wall, saying, “Give me just a moment, and I’ll have this open.”

Ah, some kind of illusionary ward. It was done a few seconds later, leaving behind a ghostly purple version of the wall that had been there.

“Now I can show you the source of the nightmares,” Erandur said. “Over here.”

We walked in and I could see that the hall curved to match the shape of the exterior walls, around an open central column. That center had both solid walls and grating. Erandur stopped at the first grate and pointed down. I went up on my toes and leaned in so I could see to the bottom. Down there was a staff of some kind in a ward bubble.

“Behold the Skull of Corruption,” he said, “the source of Dawnstar’s woes. We must reach the inner sanctum and destroy it. Come, there’s no time to lose.”

We circled down the stairway until we came upon a ward barrier. Erandur looked unhappy. “Damn it. The priests must have activated this barrier when the Miasma was released.”

I sighed again. He was a horrible liar. “And I suppose it’s going to be difficult to breach this?”

“Impossible actually,” he said. “Hmm, I wonder. . . . There may be a way to bypass the barrier, but I must check their library and confirm it can be done.”

“Erandur,” I said slowly, “I would really appreciate it if you’d stop lying—and you’re horrible at it, by the way—about how you know all of this and just tell me the truth. You’re asking for my help, after all, and this dancing around is getting tedious.”

He turned to face me with a drawn-out sigh. “I suppose there’s no point in concealing the truth any longer. My knowledge of this temple comes from personal experience. I was a priest of Vaermina.”

I nodded. “Yes, I’d figured that part out already. Do give me some credit.”

Erandur glanced away, then continued, “And what would you have me say? Sorry for following the misguided teachings of a mad Divine? Sorry for stealing memories from children? Do you realize when the Orcs attacked, I was only concerned with myself? I fled . . . and left my brothers and sisters behind to die. I’ve spent the last few decades living in regret and seeking redemption from Mara. And by her benevolence, I will right my wrongs.”

“I must have missed the part where I passed judgment on your previous religious beliefs,” I said dryly.

He looked at me then, a bit confused.

“The past is the past,” I said. “What you do now is more important. You obviously care about the damage being done to the innocent people of Dawnstar and you obviously feel regret for abandoning those you called kin. That means something. So, about this library?”

He straightened up and nodded. “I still have my key. Let’s go.”

He led the way back up the stairs and to a door we had bypassed. He unlocked the door and opened it, revealing what had been a library. Now it was the remnants of a battle. Books everywhere were burned or otherwise ruined; it broke my heart a little. But sorrow for them would have to wait, as bodies on the floor were starting to rise. Flames came to one hand and a summon to the other. Erandur and I killed them all, even the priests. They had been so long under the effects of the Miasma they attacked anyone not dressed as they were.

I fed on one of them right in front of Erandur, eyeing him challengingly. He just shook his head and said, “Barring any more interruptions, perhaps we can locate the information I need. We’re looking for a book of alchemical recipes called ‘The Dreamstride’. The tome bears the likeness of Vaermina on the cover. It should be here somewhere.”

I nodded and started checking the upper level as he headed down. I had to pick my way over or across fallen pillars—I assumed some of the Orcs had bashed them down. I heard Erandur’s voice drift up while I was poking around. “This library used to be filled with arcane volumes. Now look at it; almost everything’s been burned. I hope the tome we need is still intact.”

I was beginning to get the idea that he was depressed, morose, mopey, pessimistic. . . . A circuit around the upper level finally revealed an undamaged book of the description he had given. I skimmed through it before lightly dropping down to the lower level of the room. “Found it.”

“Let me take a look. . . .” Erandur flipped rapidly through the book and stopped on a certain page, taking in the contents more keenly. “Mara be praised! There is a way past the barrier to the inner sanctum. It involves a recipe for a liquid known as Vaermina’s Torpor.”

“So, a potion of some kind?”

“Yes. The Torpor grants an ability the priests of Vaermina called ‘The Dreamstride’; using dreams to travel distances in the real world. It’s quite amazing. Alchemy and the blessings of a Divine distilled down into an ingestible liquid.”

That was the second time he’d called Vaermina a Divine and I must say I had to disagree on that point, but it wasn’t worth quibbling over. “Travel in the real world, in dreams?” I said skeptically.

“I assure you, the Dreamstride is well known in Vaerminian Lore. Sadly, I have yet to see it function in person.”

Oh gods, I knew where this was going. Again, call me a cynic, but I just knew. I would be the one using the Dreamstride if we found it.

“As a sworn priest of Mara, the elixir won’t work for me,” he added.

Of course not.

“The Torpor will only work for Priests of Vaermina, or the unaffiliated.”

And I was no priest. “And what would it feel like?” I asked slowly.

“You’ll be viewing the memory of another through your own eyes and with your own body. Those around you will perceive you as normal and you will find the words you utter may not be your own. Thanks to all of these odd principles, there is a quite a lot of debate as to whether this is really a dream or just the machinations of Vaermina. I believe there is a laboratory in the east wing. If we proceed there, we should be able to locate a sample.”

East wing? In a circular tower? I shrugged and headed for the only exit on the level. There were more priests and Orcs awakening, and all of them were fried in one way or another. I pocketed various items along the way that I recognized. Even if I didn’t use any of them I could sell them later on.

“Now that they’ve been dealt with, we need to find the Torpor. It should be in a small bottle, very similar to a potion. I’ll begin searching up here.”

It didn’t take long before I happened upon something that looked like a potion bottle that was filled with something I’d never quite seen the colour of before. I assumed that had to be it and brought it to Erandur.

“I’m relieved you discovered a bottle intact; this place looks as though it was ransacked by the Orcs.”

Really, you don’t say. We ended up back at the ward barrier through a door right at the same level.

“So, you will need to guide us the rest of the way. Drink,” he urged. “Dawnstar’s fate rests in that tiny bottle. The longer we wait, the more damage Vaermina could be doing to those poor people. I understand your hesitation, but I promise you that it works. Once you get to the other side of the barrier you can remove the gem powering it.”

Sure, and he had said nothing about a vampire using it, so I had to assume it wasn’t an issue. I took a deep breath and uncorked the bottle, then downed it, trusting that he would watch over whatever of me was left behind. He had said my own eyes and body, but. . . . I found myself standing down where the staff was, with two men dressed in those purple robes.

“The Orcs have breached the inner sanctum, Brother Veren,” one said.

“We must hold,” Veren replied. “We can’t allow the Skull to fall into their hands.”

“But . . . no more than a handful of us remain, brother.”

“Then we have no choice. The Miasma must be released.”

“The Miasma? But, brother. . . .”

“We have no alternative. It’s the will of Vaermina. And what about you, Brother Casimir? Are you prepared to serve the will of Vaermina?” Veren asked.

As I was wondering exactly _how_ he knew this was the will of Vaermina I realized I was speaking. “I’ve made my peace. I’m ready.”

“Then it’s decided. Brother Casimir, you must activate the barrier and release the Miasma. Let nothing stop you. Brother Thorek, we must remain here and guard this Skull with our lives if necessary.”

Was Erandur this Casimir? How else would he know the events so well?

“Agreed,” Thorek replied. “To the death.”

“Then let it be done. Farewell, my brothers!”

With that I found myself racing away, up through the tower, past priests and Orcs fighting each other, fire and blades, until I reached that gem. In the dream my hand pulled a chain there on the wall, releasing the Miasma. And suddenly I was back to myself, staring at the barrier, and through it, Erandur. I shook my head to clear it and looked to the side, then plucked the gem from it’s socket. The barrier flickered and vanished.

“It . . . it worked. Mara be praised!” Erandur cried. “You vanished after drinking the Torpor and materialized on the other side. I have never seen anything like it.”

“You know,” I said conversationally, “statements like that don’t do much for my confidence in you. But yes, it worked. I experienced things as Brother Casimir.” I neglected for the moment to voice my suspicion. Veren and Thorek were likely still down there and I would have my answer soon enough.

“How I envy you. I can only imagine the excitement of seeing history through the eyes of another! Sadly, I am resigned to just reading of its wonders through my research of the Skull. But, let us go. There is more to be done.”

We continued back the way I had come during the Dreamstride, taking care of the awakening fallen, until at last we reached the lowest level. I lagged back as we approached the Skull and soon enough two men appeared.

“Wait,” Erandur said. “Veren, Thorek, you’re alive!”

“No thanks to you, Casimir,” Veren said.

Thank you. Verification complete.

“I no longer use that name. I’m Erandur, Priest of Mara.”

“You’re a traitor. You left us to die and then ran before the Miasma took you.”

Now that was a bit unfair. Veren told him to go release the Miasma and set up the barrier. The part about running, though. . . . Did they know because Vaermina told them?

“No,” Erandur said. “I . . . I was scared. I wasn’t ready to sleep.”

“Enough of your lies!” Veren shot back. “I can’t allow you to destroy the Skull, Priest of Mara.”

“Then you leave me no choice!”

I had quietly prepared spells and was ready. A summon was out a second later and I edged to the side so I could throw flames without hurting Erandur. Every time my summon was dispelled I simply brought it back. I hated to sound all callous, but our two opponents died.

Erandur looked a bit broken up over things. “I . . . knew Veren and Thorek. They were my friends. Is this punishment for my past? Is it Mara’s will to torment me so?”

Gods above. “Erandur, they gave us little choice. They were trying to kill us. There is no shame in defending your life. You know, I could have just kept casting Calm at them the entire time while you attempted to deal with the Skull, and then we could have fled before the spell wore off. Would that have been better? Should that option have been offered to all the other priests here that we’ve defended ourselves from? The Orsimer who attacked as payback for their suffering at the hands of the Skull and these priests?”

He heaved a sigh. “I—you’re right. It’s time. The Skull must be destroyed. If you’ll stand back, I’ll perform the ritual granted to me by Lady Mara.”

I did as he asked and let him get to work. 

“I call upon you, Lady Mara! The Skull hungers. It yearns for memories and leaves nightmares in its wake. Grant me the power to break through this barrier and to send the Skull to the depths of Oblivion!”

As he did so a voice insinuated itself in to my mind, trying to persuade me that Erandur was tricking me, that he would take the Skull for himself, that I should kill him now and claim it in his stead. I stoically ignored it. The Skull would likely end up somewhere back on Nirn later on down the road, temporarily lessening Vaermina’s influence in the world.

I was pleased to see him succeed. I was not opposed to all Daedric Lords. Some of them seem—well, not harmless, but certainly less evil than the Vigilants of Stendarr would have one believe.

“Forgive me if I don’t appear relieved,” he said when it was done. “This temple has taken its toll on me.”

That I could believe, having to face up to his actions of the past. “And now?”

“I’d constructed a meager shrine to Mara in the antechamber where we entered. My intention was to spend the rest of my years here, burying the past and praying for forgiveness. But instead, I wish to offer my services to you. If you ever wish to journey with me, I’ll be here.”

He obviously didn’t have a problem with me being a vampire, so I nodded and said, “I wouldn’t mind the company for now. But, Erandur, look. Maybe I shouldn’t be saying this, but do you really think staying here and praying is going to do much of anything? You’ve already made a start to atonement for anything you might have done back then. Staying here is stagnating. Wouldn’t it make more sense to get out there and actively do things in Mara’s name, things she might appreciate?”

He didn’t really have anything to say to that aside from agreeing to come along.

###### Last Seed, 26th, 4E 201

We had been in there for a lot longer than I realized. It was morning when we emerged and the sun was blinding at that angle. The walk down was quiet but for the crunch of our footsteps on the snow. The Jarl, Skald the Elder, thanked me for dealing with the nightmares (and not a word for Erandur, strangely), then essentially told me to piss off and not speak to him again unless it was important.

Outside I squinted against the glare and said, “Well, that’s that. I think we could both use some sleep, so. . . .”


	4. 1.4 The College of Winterhold

07042015

## 1.4

###### Hitting the Books  
Last Seed, 27th, 4E 201

“I want to stop at the alchemist’s before we head on.”

He pointed the way. Inside the old woman behind the counter looked up and said, “The Mortar and Pestle makes potions, if you can’t tell from the name. Just step up to the counter. I’m Frida.”

“Greetings,” I said. “What do you have for sale?” As I browsed through her selection of wares I threw out a few questions, starting with wondering how long she had lived in Dawnstar.

“Pfft. I’m the oldest woman in Dawnstar. Was here when the Skald the Elder was Skald the Younger. He's a fool, if you haven’t met him already. Thinks Ulfric Stormcloak is invincible and spits dragon fire. The people here look to Brina Merilis when they need things settled. Real firebrand growing up. Wasn’t surprised when she joined the Legion.”

‘That explains something of the Jarl’s sparkling personality,’ I thought. “How did you come to learn alchemy?”

“My husband,” she said with a faint sigh. “We used to go out in the wilds and collect ingredients together. He used to call me his ‘pretty Juniper’. It’s quite romantic, if you’re an alchemist. Frost took the old fool a few seasons back, while he was looking for the Ring of Pure Mixtures. I found the ring’s resting place after he died, but I’m far too old to go exploring some cave, now.”

“Oh?” I replied. She seemed a nice enough person, so. . . . “Where is it?”

Frida looked surprised and not a little wary. “Forsaken Cave.”

“That’s on my way back to the College, so I can try to get it for you,” I said. “But it’d take a while for me to return most likely.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet. I’d be happy to give you some alchemy training in exchange for the ring, if you bring it to me.”

I nodded. “All right, you have a deal. I’ll stop at the cave since it’s on the way, and when I circle back around to here I’ll drop it off. Or maybe I’ll just double back, I don’t know. And, here’s what I’d like to purchase.”

We haggled over the price and settled on something that was agreeable to us both, and then exited. Erandur did that eyebrow thing at me once we were outside. “This is a good example of doing Mara’s work,” I said quietly. “Or close enough, anyway. That poor lady is too old now to get it and her husband had really wanted it for her. It sounds like they were very much in love. What better thing to do than help her out, for her sake and that of her dead husband? Maybe I’m wrong, but I think Mara would be pleased.”

The walk there was pleasant enough, with only the usual disturbances along the way. About halfway there Erandur started occasionally telling me a few things about his past. We reached the cave around noon if the position of the sun meant anything and wandered in. The entrance was frozen, but beyond that I can’t say the place was anything special, certainly not after having seen Saarthal.

We recovered the ring, but more importantly, I found another of those curved walls—word walls, I suppose: Krii—Kill. I still had to wonder why this was happening and how it was I could understand a single word from each wall, but I chalked it up to Divine intervention and left it at that. Erandur didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary so I didn’t call attention to what happened to me.

If I had the time and the supplies I would get rubbings of the damn things so I could attempt to translate them later on. Or maybe ask Urag in the Arcanaeum if there were any books that would help me. Getting pieces of parchment that big would be problematical and carrying around pots of ink was also, due to the contents freezing too readily.

I shrugged and looked around for anything of value that Erandur hadn’t already picked up (and as a priest he often ignored things of that nature). “Are you ready?” I asked.

“Yes. Let’s go.”

Outside I checked the sun and realized I could probably get back to Dawnstar faster than I could Winterhold, and be there in decent time for Erandur to be able to get some sleep. I packed up my spoils on Horse and we started the walk back.

We walked right into a vampire attack. The sun had long since fallen and guards were fighting vampires, thralls, and strange hounds. ‘Thanks a lot,’ I thought, ‘whoever you are, whatever breed you are. Thanks for making all vampires that much more feared.’

Frida was in the tavern so I handed over the ring. She gave me that promised alchemy instruction in return. On my way to bespeak rooms for the night I was waylaid by a Captain Wayfinder, who was looking for some finely-cut void salts. I admit, I zoned out during his explanation, so I’m not entirely sure what the story was there, but I told him that if I ran across them I would deliver them the next time I was in town.

Thoring rented me a couple of rooms and I took a seat next to Erandur at one of the tables. “You weren’t even paying attention to that captain, were you?” he accused.

“Well, no,” I admitted. “My mind kind of wandered.”

He sighed. “He made a trade with the College of Winterhold for some finely-cut void salts, but his crew got drunk and somehow lost them in a cave. Here, let me see your map.”

I handed it over and let him mark it. When I took it back I saw he had written a number at the spot and there was a corresponding note on the back to remind me why the mark was even there. “Ah, okay. I got us both rooms so we can get some sleep before heading out again. You ever been to the College of Winterhold?”

He shook his head. “The College of Winterhold is an amazing sight. I’ve never set foot on the grounds, but always wanted to.”

“Well, you’ll have your chance. They normally stop people at the bottom of the bridge and make them prove their skill, but that’s more because the Nord population tends to get a bit belligerent at times. I already know you’re an excellent mage, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

I spent some time out in the common room quietly conversing with Erandur and listening to the bard, Karita. Her voice wasn’t horrible or anything, but it was obvious she’d not likely had instruction at the Bard College in Solitude. As I got up to go to my room she started singing about how the “Dragonborn” would come. It was a pretty enough legend, I supposed.

###### Last Seed, 28th, 4E 201

On my way to the library Onmund practically ran me down. Then he asked me for a favor in a very hush voice, like it was all some terrible secret. “It needs to be kept private,” he kept saying as various people walked by. I pointed to the door Erandur would need for the library and turned back to Onmund, who dragged me off into the practice area and behind one of the pillars.

“I may have entered into an . . . agreement with Enthir,” he said, peering around the pillar for anyone coming into hearing range. “He had something I needed, so I traded him something of mine. It was a mistake, and now I want back what I gave him.”

“Which is?” I prompted when he took too long to continue.

“It’s an amulet that belonged to my family, and I never should’ve given it to Enthir. But he won’t deal with me. Talk to him; see what it’ll take to get my amulet back.”

A family amulet, huh? “Is it difficult being away from your family?”

“Not at all,” he replied. “I consider it a blessing. My family was convinced coming here was a death sentence, or worse. It took years of insisting that this is what I’m meant to do.”

So he was capable of persisting in the one goal, but was put off or afraid of a Dunmer who liked to threaten to fry you from the inside out. Right. “What was it you needed from Enthir?” I asked curiously.

Onmund shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s also none of your concern. Just talk to him; see if you can convince him to give my amulet back. I know they’ve always disapproved of what I wanted in life, to learn magic instead of becoming a farmer, or a hunter. But no matter how poorly they may have treated me, they’re still my family. I didn’t consider that until after I’d made the trade.”

“All right, I’ll at least talk to him,” I said, “but I have to go make sure my friend is doing all right around Urag first.”

“Oh, okay.”

I nodded and went back out to the entry to find that Erandur was waiting there instead of having gone ahead. I smiled and pushed open the door to the Arcanaeum stairwell and headed down. Urag was his usual threatening self, but could see that Erandur was a scholar of sorts. “I need to go talk to someone, but you should be fine here for a while. I shouldn’t be too long.”

I wasn’t five steps inside the Hall of Attainment when Brelyna stopped me asking for help. She had some new spell she was working on, which was more than I had managed to consider doing, so I agreed. She turned my vision green.

“There! Now, I. . . .” Brelyna got a funny look on her face. “Oh dear. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Do you . . . do you feel all right? You look very, umm, green.”

“I feel fine, but I’m seeing green.”

“I am so very sorry,” she apologized. “I went over this again and again, and I was sure it would have better results. It’s not permanent! It’s not! It shouldn’t be. You’ll be back to normal in no time. And when you are, we can try this again and I’ll be sure to get it right.”

Somehow that didn’t do much for my level of confidence. “What do you think you did wrong?”

“I’m not really sure. I think it’s just a minor miscalculation on my part. I’m sure it will wear off soon. In the meantime, I’ll see about figuring out what went wrong.”

Well, green or not, I had a mage to speak to about an amulet. Enthir was upstairs in his room. He seemed to eat an inordinate amount of bread in my opinion, but that was beside the point. I inquired about Onmund’s amulet and was met with derision. Why Enthir didn’t just call Onmund a milk drinker and be done with it I didn’t know. Persuasion didn’t work, not that I expected it to, and Enthir kept being abrasive until I asked him straight what it would take.

He made a deal and ended up thinking better of it, wanted me to retrieve the staff for him. Then he would give me the amulet. When I pointed out that this sounded terribly familiar and that his “all trades are final” policy was awfully flexible when it came to his own bad choices he insisted it was a completely different situation.

About the time he finally told me where I should be able to find the staff Brelyna’s spell wore off, so I headed downstairs to talk to her. “Exactly as I said it would,” she said when she saw me. “Now, are you ready to try again? I am confident that it will work this time.”

“Sure.”

“Okay, now don’t move at all,” she warned as a spell came to her hand, then cast.

I had this sudden urge to moo and realized I was on all fours and had a tail.

“Oh my. That isn’t right!” Brelyna exclaimed. “Just wait. Just. . . . I can fix this,” she assured me, readying the spell again.

Hay? Why do I want hay? And why am I still an animal?

“Oh no, that’s not it at all. Let me try again. . . .”

I barked in frustration and realized I was a dog.

“This really isn’t turning out the way I’d hoped,” Brelyna said, embarrassment plain in her voice. “I’ll get it right this time, I swear.” She cast again, and this time I was back to normal. “There, all better,” she said with heavy relief. “Well, it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

I opened my mouth to ask her just what exactly the spell was supposed to do if not any of that, but thought better of it. Instead I said, “Let us never speak of this again.”

“Oh yes, of course. I have a long way to go before I’m ready for the kind of advanced magic I’ve been attempting. But at least I know where to start now. Thank you, you’ve been a great help to me.”

I nodded and hastened back to the Hall of the Elements, telling Onmund when I saw him that I was working on it, then to the Arcanaeum to see how Erandur was doing. He was nose deep in a book. I left him to it and found something to read for myself. Urag let me know it was night when he heaved himself up in preparation of leaving and reminded me of those books he’d asked me to find, so I set down the book I was reading and shook Erandur’s shoulder gently. “Hey, it’s getting late.”

“Oh,” he said. “Where has the time gone? I’ll get myself a room at the inn in town.”

“All right,” I said as I led him out. “There’s a staff I need to track down so if you’re good for it I’ll meet you at the inn in the morning.”

“That sounds fine,” he said, then trundled off along the bridge.

###### Last Seed, 29th, 4E 201

We made it almost to Whiterun before anything of even vague interest happened. There was a jester of sorts on the road, down the hill from a farm. As soon as we got closer I could hear him ranting. “Agh! Bother and befuddle! Stuck here! Stuck! My mother, my poor mother. Unmoving. At rest, but too still!”

Considering that the only thing on the wagon was a large wooden box I had to assume he was transporting a corpse. I stopped and asked if there was something I could do to help, even though I didn’t have the first idea how to make repairs of that nature.

“Oh. Oh yes! Yes, the kindly stranger can certainly help! Go to the farm—the Loreius Farm. Just over there, off the road. Talk to Loreius. He has tools! He can help me! But he won’t! He refuses! Convince Loreius to fix my wheel! Do that, and poor Cicero will reward you. With coin! Gleamy, shiny coin!”

I frowned slightly and shared a look with Erandur. This man was clearly mad, perhaps even a devotee of Sheogorath, but his need was real. I shrugged. “Money isn’t necessary, friend, but I’ll see what I can do.”

Loreius was not a happy man and kept sending glares down the hill. As it was he was simply there, leaning against the fence surrounding his plot. I couldn’t see why he wouldn’t help. So I asked him.

“That Cicero feller? Hmph. Crazy fool’s already asked me about five times. Seems he’s not satisfied with my answer. Why can’t he just leave us alone?”

“He has coin,” I pointed out.

“You think this is about money? Have you not seen the man? He’s completely out of his head. A jester? Here, in Skyrim? Ain’t been a merryman in these parts for a hundred years.”

And that made it wrong somehow?

“And he’s transporting some giant box. Says it’s a coffin, and he’s going to bury his mother. Mother my eye. He could have anything in there. War contraband. Weapons. Skooma. Ain’t no way I’m getting involved in any of that.”

“You wouldn’t be involved,” I tried to say, “just helping someone in need.”

“What?” Loreius replied. “And just who in Mara’s name are you, anyway? Hmm? Come here, telling me my business. And for what? To help a . . . a . . . a fool!”

Erandur stepped forward at that, clearly unhappy. “I happen to _be_ a Priest of Mara and I’m asking you to reconsider and help the poor man. Are you really feeling that callous toward a fellow Imperial who’s a bit unhinged over the death of his mother?”

Loreius began to scoff, but took a good look at Erandur and snapped his mouth closed. Erandur was clearly dressed as a priest and wore an amulet of Mara’s visibly. “Look, I. . . . You’re right,” he said, deflating from his aggressive posture. “Feller might be nutters, might not. But fact is, he needs help. I turn him away, what kind of man am I? Look, um, thanks. And I’m sorry for my unneighborly reaction. If you talk to Cicero, you be sure and tell him I’ll be down to help soon.”

Erandur nodded and looked at me, so we strolled back down the hill. I gave Cicero a small smile and said, “Loreius will come help you shortly.”

“Oh, stranger!” Cicero cried, capering about in delight. “You have made Cicero so happy! So jubilant and ecstatic! But more! Even more! My mother thanks you! Here, here. For your troubles! Shiny, clinky gold! A few coins for a kind deed!”

I stepped back, saying, “Oh, no, really. You don’t need to do that.” He shoved the pouch forward again and I sighed. “Uh, I guess we could donate it to a temple.”

“Is the pretty stranger a priest?” Cicero asked.

I laughed softly and shook my head. “No, no, just a simple mage on an errand. But my friend here is a Priest of Mara and it was he who managed to convince Loreius to assist you.”

Cicero turned to Erandur and thrust the pouch forward again, and Erandur took it. “I will make sure this goes to helping others,” he said with a slight bow.

Cicero bounced in place and said, “I will wait for Loreius! Oh yes, mother and I will wait right here, right here until he fixes our wheel.”

I waved and we moved on.

###### Last Seed, 30th, 4E 201

Shriekwind Bastion was north of Falkreath, a town I had yet to bother to visit. It was too far south and too small, so I didn’t much see the point. “There were an awful lot of vampires,” I commented as we finished frying the more powerful one in a room with a word wall.

“Well, not all vampires are as civilized as you are,” Erandur replied, making sure it was beyond being raised even temporarily.

I started picking up anything I could sell later and casually wandered by the word wall: Su—Air. I had no idea on that one, unless it had something to do with wind.

“I’m not sure why you keep collecting that stuff,” Erandur said, as close to complaining as he could get.

“Ah, I do need money to buy spell tomes, some ingredients, stuff like that. But I also always donate some to the temples.”

“I see. And do you follow anyone in particular?”

“I’m not particularly religious, though if I had to say I’d say Kynareth, for reasons I’m not willing to go into just yet. I donate because I know the money goes toward potions for the sick and helping people. Most of the stuff I pack onto Horse is from bandits who were preying on people, so a little money toward helping others. . . . Well, it probably won’t directly help the people who were killed or stolen from, but it’s something.”

“Is this in any way related to how you came to be a vampire?” he asked. The question was insightful in a way, but not exactly.

“Mm, only peripherally,” I said, then, “That’s it, I think. Let’s go take care of that errand for Urag.”

“Well, it’s on the way back,” he said, shrugging slightly at not getting a better answer.

###### Last Seed, 31st, 4E 201

Fellglow Keep was a cheerful place. I lie, of course. Urag had told me the book I wanted about Saarthal and the Night of Tears had been stolen by a former apprentice who went off with a group of troublemakers. I doubted my ability to just sneak into the place and get them back, so I expected there would be some trouble along the way. There was.

I was particularly annoyed at finding more than a few vampires caged up in the dungeons of the keep. The first one I released immediately attacked us, so she had to die. To the next one I said, “You going to do that, too? Turn on someone setting you free?”

She shook her head. “No. There are some mages in the next room who like to use us for target practice. They paralyze us first, drag us off to their little practice room, and stick us in cages they hang from the ceiling. You let me out and I’m going after the fetchers.”

“Good enough,” I said and looked to the others. They also agreed so I started picking locks as quickly as I could manage it. They were good for their word; they all charged off through a nearby door and started attacking some mages in there. As soon as they were done, they returned through the door and escaped back the way we had come.

Orthorn, the apprentice who had stolen the books, was in a cage farther on. Seems his “good deed” on behalf of his “friends” had paid off with being held in captivity until the woman in charge could use him for an experiment or something. I set him free and told him to flee while he could. The gods knew I didn’t want to be responsible for the gullible fool.

The place was a veritable nightmare to navigate and there were necromancers all over the place. I personally found it distasteful that they would raise one of their fellows almost as soon as we had killed one, but necromancers were funny that way. By the time we had finally found a way into the ritual chamber I had tucked away a whole host of books to read later.

Only one person was in the chamber; she was standing there by a plinth with a book on it. In two alcoves behind her, to either side of a set of doors, I could see additional plinths with books.

“So, you’re the one who barged into my home and laid waste to my projects. How nice to meet you,” the woman said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Well, she had a point. “May I know your name?” I asked, not bothering to give mine.

“Names no longer matter. You may refer to me as The Caller. Now, do you have a reason for making such a mess?”

She seemed strangely reasonable for a necromancer. “I’m here on behalf of the College of Winterhold to retrieve some stolen property—three books.”

She shifted her weight before saying, “So you’re just one of Aren’s lackeys? That’s disappointing. You show real promise. You come here, kill my assistants, disrupt my work. . . . You’ve annoyed me, so I don’t think I’ll be giving you anything.”

“May I please have the books stolen from the College?” I asked, trying to be polite. I’d kill the woman in a heartbeat if necessary, but I figured I would try it the other way first. It was hardly our fault that all of her minions attacked us without a second thought.

“Oh, now we’re all please and thank you, are we? I’m afraid we’re well beyond pleasantries. I’ll allow you the opportunity to turn around, walk out that door, and never come back. I suggest you move quickly.”

So, that was that. I wasn’t leaving without the books and she wasn’t going to let me simply take them. I snorted softly and snatched the book off the plinth between us. She immediately readied spells and began casting. A frost atronach appeared a moment later and she revealed that she could teleport short distances.

I conjured a fire atronach and Erandur and I set about bringing her down, wordlessly agreeing to keep an eye on certain locations so we weren’t shooting spells across each other’s line of fire. Once that was out of the way I collected the other two books and looted the place. She had a key for the door opposite where we entered, which was handy, as it led to a much easier way out.

On the way back to the College I got distracted by something in the distance and ended up finding another word wall: Zul Mey Gut—Voice Fool Far. I think I’d just learned to throw my voice, except that I had no actual idea how.

After that we hurried along. I was tired and wanted to get back, despite the actual distance involved. One of the guards patrolling the roads said those fatal words and I added another sweet roll to my collection. We hustled into town eventually and I was brought up short by one of the guards saying, in an awed voice no less, “You must be one of those wizards, from up at the College in Winterhold.”

I rolled by eyes as I started walking again and muttered, “We’re _in_ Winterhold, you moron.”

“I’ll be grabbing a room at the inn,” Erandur said.

“All right. I’ll be down in the morning, either way.”

###### Heartfire, 1st, 4E 201

J’zargo was an odd fellow. He asked me for help in testing some modified flame cloak scrolls. For being in such a hurry to surpass the rest of us, he was sure too lazy to actually, you know, leave the College long enough to test them for himself. “Ah, sure,” I said and accepted a bundle of ten scrolls. I wasn’t entirely happy with where my skills were and I would be making the rounds again, so I might as well test them out.

“It is especially potent against the undead, and should burn them to a crisp in no time. J’zargo gives you plenty of these scrolls, so you try them and return when you can say whether they work,” he added.

“Right, I’ll get back to you,” I said, then hastened off to the Arcanaeum to deliver the books. For the record, I had attained Adept level with Illusion and Alteration and I was very close with Destruction (or so Faralda assured me). Restoration and Conjuration not so much, but Restoration was one of the hardest to advance. If you’re any good at dodging or warding you simply don’t need to heal yourself as often.

Urag accepted the books gruffly. I then asked him about the writ regarding Jyrik in a roundabout way and he pointed me at an appropriate book, which I skimmed over enough to know where I would need to look: Folgunthur. I put the book back where it belonged and headed out to town, to the inn, to meet up with Erandur.

We didn’t even make it to the next town when a strange figure approached that made the hair on the back of my neck rise up in alarm. The figure already had its weapons out—it died, too.

It was a Khajiit assassin from the Dark Brotherhood. According to a note in his pocket I was the target. Who in Oblivion would want me dead? It was tempting to think that if I ever figured out where they operated from I would slaughter every last one I could get my hands on. Maybe bottle their blood, label them, keep them as trophies? Erandur seemed shocked, but no more so than I was.

“I can’t think of a single reason why they’d be after me,” I said, shaking my head. “I find it hard to believe that some bandit who got away would have performed the Black Sacrament. I also find it hard to believe they send out potential assassins to randomly murder someone to prove their skills, not when this idiot came at us in broad daylight, weapons out, and yelling.”

None of it made any sense so we pushed on and made it to the ruins not far outside Dawnstar by noon. There was still a ways to go, but we stopped for lunch (well, for Erandur more than I, since I “ate” on the way—stupid bandits couldn’t just leave us alone when we skirted the fort) before continuing.

Folgunthur was fun! Just kidding. There was a campsite outside and one of the tents had a journal in it. The guy it belonged to was a real sweetheart, killing people for their stuff, hiring thugs, looking for some amulet. We headed inside and followed a trail of corpses. It seemed that Daynas Valen’s people hadn’t fared too well. Daynas himself was propped up against a funny little pedestal. He had the claw key for the tomb as well as his notes.

I had already found Jyrik at Saarthal and we were here at Folgunthur for Mikrul, the second son. Sigdis would be at Geirmund’s Hall and the father, Gauldur, was interred in a cave at Reachwater Rock. I tucked the note and the claw away.

Mikrul put up a good fight, raising a dozen thralls over the course of it, but Erandur and I brought him down without getting too bashed up. There was another writ there, but I tucked it away without reading it. I knew the story already so there was little point. I grabbed the amulet fragment and his blade, grabbed anything else that looked interesting or valuable, and picked up another word: Fo—Frost. It was behind a barrier I needed the claw to unlock.

There was also a large chest present, which I promptly looted. One of the items was a very strange sphere of sorts, except that it had too many facets to truly be called a sphere. As I picked it up I heard a voice resonate in my head.

“A new hand touches the Beacon,” I heard, a female voice. “Listen. Hear me and obey. A foul darkness has seeped into my temple. A darkness that you will destroy.” I was then told to go to Mount Kilkreath.

Now, some Daedric Lords I wouldn’t dream of helping, but Meridia might well be an exception. Nothing particularly wrong with a hatred of the undead. And I don’t think I’m a hypocrite because I don’t consider myself undead. I have a “condition” caused by a disease, and it can be cured. A true undead doesn’t have that option and I doubt anyone who has turned themselves into a lich has the option to go, “Whoops, this sucks. Maybe there’s a way to not be undead anymore.”


	5. 1.5 The College of Winterhold

07042015

## 1.5

###### Hitting the Books  
Heartfire, 2nd, 4E 201

We spent the night in Morthal. The silly proprietor wouldn’t even come to the counter at first. That’s some attitude to take when someone is trying to give you money!

Geirmund’s Hall was halfway to Riften, so swinging by Elysium on the way wouldn’t be a terrible idea, even if it was technically out of the way. I was also running low on funds and would have to cart a bunch of weapons and armor to a smithy or general store. I just wasn’t ready to worry about learning to enchant. Survival skills came first, even though one could argue that well-enchanted clothing _is_ a survival skill. There would be more of what I’d collected in the future and Horse was probably sick to death of carrying it all.

Erandur and I made it to Whiterun before the shops closed and I made the rounds, remembering to drop off a generous donation at the temple, and ended up making a fair amount of coin. It pays to be a pack rat with a sturdy horse. If I thought it wouldn’t make me even more of a target I would hitch Horse to a cart.

As I was coming down the steps from Dragonsreach, having sold off extra spell tomes to Farengar, I noticed Jorrvaskr again. It looked so interesting from that vantage, though I really did wonder about all the missing sections in the hull. Unfortunately, I wasn’t exactly paying attention to my footing and slid right off the edge and into the pool below. On my way out a nearby guard was foolish enough to bring down Sheogorath’s . . . wrath? Attention? Which reminded me I would need to store my sweet rolls at Elysium.

Erandur never even saw it happen. He was too busy coming down the stairs the correct way. We passed a bit of time at the Bannered Mare and then I led Erandur to Elysium, warning him along the way about Kynareth’s eye on the place.

###### Heartfire, 3rd, 4E 201

It was pissing rain when I checked that morning. There was no help for it, really. A guard along the way said those fatal words and I added a sweet roll to my pouch. The other three were safe in my room at Elysium. Of course, this was the kind of thing that made me swear never to eat another sweet roll in my life.

We were almost half way there when another assassin came charging up like a typical Nord—except it was another Khajiit. These guys were not exactly giving me a good impression of the Dark Brotherhood’s competence. I had him as a snack. A bit fuzzy, but still tasty. Erandur just rolled his eyes and looked away while I drained him. Still, I had to wonder again if they were brand new members, or maybe high on skooma, because what assassin just barrels over in broad daylight (pissing rain does not change that it was mid-morning and still pretty bright out) like the target is deaf, dumb, and blind?

The rain didn’t look to be letting up so we stopped in Ivarstead, which was fairly close to our destination anyway. Erandur looked miserable and I felt miserable, so I rented a room at the inn (and it had two beds, so I didn’t have to pay for two). I cozied up to the bar and asked about the local news and gossip.

Wilhelm, the proprietor, told me about a barrow just on the edge of town that was haunted. “Look, I’ve seen one of the spirits with my very own eyes. When it glared at me, I swear it burned right through my soul. Fortunately, though, they seem to be sticking to the barrow. I think they’re guarding it. Certainly isn’t helping my business any; who’d want to rent a room anywhere near a haunted barrow?”

I glanced over at Erandur and he nodded, so I told Wilhelm we’d take a look.

“If you think there’s anything you can do, be my guest. About a year or two ago, some fella named Wyndelius came through; said he was some kind of treasure hunter. I warned him not to go in there, just like I’m warning you. The very next night we heard screams from the barrow, and that was it. We never saw him again.”

The barrow itself was fairly small, considering. We could hear a male voice warning us away after we entered, but I’d killed too many bandits, vampires, and draugr to be frightened by a disembodied voice. The place dead-ended in a room with a table, a sleeping pallet on the floor next to it, and a perfectly normal man who attacked us immediately.

His journal was right there in the open so I skimmed through it and handed it to Erandur so he could read it as well. A treasure-seeking con man, getting his jollies off scaring the townsfolk. I gathered up the potions he had left, the ones he used for his trick, and anything else useful or of value, and we returned to the Vilemyr Inn.

Wilhelm was surprised to see us, and even more surprised to read the journal. “Let me see that! . . .I can’t believe this. It was all just a fabrication of this Wyndelius character? I can’t believe we were so stupid. Well, least I can do is give you something for taking care of him. If you won’t accept it as a payment, consider it a gift.” He ducked down to rummage around under the counter and reappeared holding a claw key with sapphire tips.

There had been an appropriate door in there so I smiled and accepted it. “Thank you. There’s something I need to double-check back there, but we’ll return shortly for a meal and to get some rest.”

There was a word wall behind the claw door: Kaan—Kyne. Interesting.

A barmaid at the Vilemyr Inn was rabbiting on about werewolves, which reminded me of the Companions again. At some point I would have to do more than just admire the building, and get close enough to see if the scent that woman had meant she was a were or something else.

###### Heartfire, 4th, 4E 201

It was pissing rain again, but Geirmund's Hall wasn’t far behind Shroud Hearth Barrow, so the walk, while unpleasant, did not take very long. Inside I could see a plethora of mushroom varieties, a dead adventurer with nothing of note on him, a large hole leading straight down, and no other immediately visible path. There very likely was, but with how tall and narrow the cave was it was hard to see anything properly. The place was someone’s tomb so there had to be a way out. I was fairly sure that was water down there, but even with my eyesight it was hard to tell for certain. “Feeling brave?” I asked Erandur, then jumped in.

All in all there wasn’t a whole lot to say about the place, though we did find Geirmund’s skeleton along the way. There were the usual spiders, traps, puzzles, draugr—and at the end was Sigdis. Now he was a challenge. After he “woke up” and got up he produced two illusionary clones of himself. Hitting a fake made it disappear, and if you got both of them Sigdis would teleport to a new position as well as make new clones. He could also send us flying by bellowing at us like a Deathlord draugr—or, come to think of it, _Shout_ , like the dragon priests of old I’d read about, or more recently, like Ulfric Stormcloak during his “duel” with the High King.

I collected his writ after his defeat, along with his bow and amulet fragment. And sure enough, there was a way out from his room that led to a spot a little up the wall from where we had initially jumped in. Unfortunately, another look at my map showed we would have to go clear across Skyrim, nearly to Markarth, to reforge the amulet.

I rolled my eyes and said, “Yeah, we’re continuing to Riften and hiring a carriage to take us to Markarth. I simply don’t feel like walking.”

Distraction struck again as we were almost there. We were coming at Riften from the west, not the north, and I saw what I thought was a standing stone off to the side. It turned out to be the Shadow Stone, and that would be that, except I noticed a set of stairs leading up to a temple or something. There was a word wall up there: Faas—Fear.

###### Heartfire, 5th, 4E 201

We arrived at Markarth, safe and sound. It was a surprisingly boring trip, though I suspected the driver had latent sociopathic tendencies. He seemed to take great delight in riding down any and all bandits, wolves, small livestock, etc., along the way. But I remembered why I was avoiding Markarth; we walked right into a fight between Legionnaires and the Forsworn.

At any rate we found the place, defeated all three sons again, and then watched as Gauldur’s ghost appeared long enough to forge the pieces together again. It basically gave a fair boost to the wearer’s health, magicka, and stamina, so while I thought it was decently powerful (though not something I would wear for long), I didn’t really understand why people back then would think it was so amazing. Perhaps time and research had allowed for much stronger enchantments?

“Much as I hate the idea we’re going to have to spend the night in Markarth,” I told Erandur as we were walking back toward the city.

“I have never been,” Erandur replied, “but Markarth has quite a reputation thanks to the Silver-Blood family. I wouldn’t advise crossing them.”

I blinked. “Right. I was thinking more about the fact that their beds are made from stone and have very little in the way of padding, if any.”

“. . .Oh.”

We hadn’t even taken two steps into the city when some guy pulled a dagger out and went for a woman in blue. I didn’t even think, I just lobbed fire at him, causing him to change targets to me. Erandur snapped into action and we killed the guy in seconds.

Oddly, a young Breton who’d been leaning against the wall outside the inn came up to talk to me about the incident, then insisted, as he shoved a piece of parchment into my hand, that I must have dropped a note. Yeah, well, whatever he passed me could wait. Considering the patently fake way he denied knowing anything about the note I expected he was trying to draw someone in, preferably an outsider, to whatever weirdness was going on.

The guards didn’t even seem to care that we’d just cut a man down. All they heard was that he was Forsworn and it was like all was forgiven. I got us rooms at the Silver-Blood Inn, enjoyed the dubious joys of listening to a dysfunctional family snipe at each other or be apologists, and retired to my cold, hard bed for the night.

###### Good Intentions  
Heartfire, 7th, 4E 201

I left Erandur at the inn and tracked down J’zargo at the College. He was eager in his questions about the scrolls.

“Were they supposed to explode, and were you actually trying to get me killed?” I countered.

Somehow all this made us “friends”. He let me keep the remainder of the scrolls; I made a mental note to either sell them as soon as possible or destroy them so that no one else might try and blow themselves up. Perhaps it would be fun to sell them to Farengar, actually.

I then went off to see if Tolfdir had finished his study of the sphere. It had been moved to the College sometime during my first circuit around the country and he had been hard at work trying to figure it out ever since. He was still there, staring up at the damn thing.

“Have you stopped by the Arcanaeum lately?” I asked. “I brought back a book that Urag thinks you should read.”

Tolfdir started slightly and said, “Ah, yes. I’ll be sure to stop by later. I just can’t seem to tear myself away. Whatever it is, its beauty is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. If you’d allow me to indulge myself for a moment, I thought I might make a few observations.”

I smiled. “Of course.” I was a member of the College to learn, after all, even if I did need to journey to improve most of my skills.

“I’m sure you’ve already noticed the markings. They’re quite unlike anything we’ve seen before. Ayleid, Dwemer, Daedric. . . . Not even Falmer. None of them are a match. Quite curious indeed. Now, I’m not sure you’re quite as attuned as I am, given my extensive years of experience, but can you feel that? This marvelous object. It practically radiates magicka, and yet it’s unlike anything I’ve felt before. Arch-Mage Aren is already hard at work, and hopefully we’ll have more information soon.”

I saw Ancano approaching from the entry and did my best to ignore him. Unfortunately he spoke right over what Tolfdir had started to say. “I’m afraid I must intrude. It is urgent that I speak with your associate immediately.”

My gaze shifted to the side unhappily. I had hoped he would no longer feel the need to talk to me about the orb now that it was here.

“This is most inappropriate! We are involved in serious research here!”

“Yes, I’ve no doubt of its gravity. This, however, is a matter that cannot wait.”

Oh how I wished I could disappear into the nearest stone pillar. I didn’t know how to turn myself invisible and doubted it would work, and I wasn’t nearly good enough at being sneaky to slip off that way, either.

“Well,” Tolfdir said in an offended tone, “I’m quite sure I’ve never been interrupted like this before. The audacity!” He turned to me and said more softly, “I suppose we’ll continue this at some later time, when we can avoid interruptions.”

I nodded as he wandered off. If nothing else it got him away from the orb and hopefully doing something, anything, else. No one should be that mesmerized by a big ball.

“I need you to come with me immediately,” Ancano said sharply. “Let’s go.”

Well if that didn’t sound like an invitation to being tortured by the Thalmor I didn’t know what did. “I don’t understand what’s going on,” I said slowly, trying to stall him.

“Really? Well, allow me to clarify the situation.”

Gods, his voice alone made my ears want to bleed.

“I’d like to know why there’s someone claiming to be from the Psijic Order here at the College. More importantly, I’d like to know why he’s asking for you specifically.”

I blinked in confusion.

“So we’re going to go have a little chat with him, and find out exactly what it is he wants. Now, we are going up to the Arch-Mage's quarters and you are going to speak to this . . . monk . . . and find out why he is here, and then he will be removed from College grounds.”

Upstairs, with Ancano dogging my every step, I emerged into the Arch-Mage’s quarters and saw Aren and a figure wearing those distinctive robes. I suppose all of them wore them. As soon as I got close enough my sight went all funny again, as it did when I spoke to the one at Saarthal. A quick look around showed that Ancano and Aren appeared to be frozen in time.

“Please do not be alarmed,” said the monk. “I mean you no harm. It is good to meet you in person.”

Was that supposed to imply they’d been spying on me from a distance? Or just that he had heard a report from whoever met me at Saarthal? I exhaled a bit gustily and said, “What is it that you want with me?”

“I merely wish to talk to you,” he replied. “I’ve given us a chance to speak privately, but I’m afraid I can’t do this for long. We must be brief. The situation here at your College is of dire importance, and attempts to contact you as we have previously have failed. I believe it is due to the very source of our concern.”

And that somehow caused problems even when I was clear over in Markarth? I felt more than a bit skeptical of that statement, but nodded.

“This object . . . the Eye of Magnus as your people have taken to calling it. The energy coming from it has prevented us from reaching you with the visions you have already seen.”

What in Oblivion was he talking about? Visions I’d already seen? Did that mean the first fellow was a projection of some sort? And if so, how was that even possible given the Eye was there at the time?

“The longer it remains here, the more dangerous the situation becomes. And so I have come here personally to tell you it must be dealt with.”

“. . .And because I was the one who opened the way. . . .”

“Yes. You must understand, the Psijic Order does not typically . . . intervene directly in events. My presence here will be seen as an affront to some within the Order, and as soon as we have finished I will be leaving your College. I’m all too aware that my presence has aroused suspicion, especially in Ancano, your Thalmor associate. Nevertheless, my Order will not act directly. You must take it upon yourself to do so.”

I huffed quietly, privately annoyed the perceived need for mystery. “He’s no associate of mine,” I muttered, then asked, “So what exactly is the problem and what is expected of me?”

“As you may have learned, this object . . . The Eye . . . is immensely powerful. The world is not ready for it. If it remains here, it will be misused. Indeed, many in the Order believe it has already. . . . Rather, something will happen soon, something that cannot be avoided. We believe that your efforts should be directed toward dealing with the aftermath, but we cannot predict what that will be. I fear I have already overstepped the bounds of my Order, but I will offer this: seek out the Augur of Dunlain here in your College. His perception may be more coherent than ours.”

“And that is. . . ?”

“He was once a student here at the College. Now he is . . . something different. As to where, exactly, he is, I am unsure. Somewhere within the College. Surely one of your colleagues must know his location. I am sorry I cannot provide you with further help, but this conversation requires a great deal of effort on my part. Now, I am afraid I must leave you. We will continue to watch over you, and guide you as best we can. It is within you to succeed. Never forget that.”

Before I could ask anything else, such as about these people spying on my every move, or even why I should trust any of them, he dropped the spell he was using and my sight returned to normal.

“I’m sorry,” Savos said, “were you about to say something?”

“Well? What is the meaning of this?” Ancano demanded.

I sighed and stepped back behind the two, out of their sight and off to the side.

“I’m sorry,” the monk said, “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Don’t play coy,” Ancano said. “You asked to see a specific member of the College. Here she is. Now what is it you want?”

What I wanted was to not have a target painted on my back for Ancano to aim at.

“There has been a misunderstanding,” the monk said, sounding vaguely confused. “Clearly I should not be here. I shall simply take my leave.”

“What?” Ancano said sharply. “What trickery is this? You’re not going anywhere until I find out what you’re up to!”

My brow went up. Did Ancano really think he stood a chance against someone who could freeze time and teleport away?

“I am not ‘up to’ anything,” the monk insisted. “I apologize if I have offended you in any way.”

“We will see about this,” Ancano said threateningly, yet escorted the monk to the stairwell.

Savos stayed behind, his expression a study in befuddlement. “I’m not sure what just happened. A monk from the Psijic Order, here, after all these years, and then he just leaves. I hope we didn’t offend him somehow.”

“Have you ever heard of the Augur of Dunlain?” I asked curiously, hoping he would let something slip in his inattention.

A look of exasperation mixed with irritation immediately slid over Aren’s face. “Has Tolfdir been telling stories again? I thought I made it quite clear that this was a subject inappropriate for conversation. Please don’t allow him to continue to discuss the subject.”

I was soon enough down in the Midden beneath the College. What a lovely place we had there, though I’d more call it catacombs given the confusing layout and plain odd stuff down here. An Atronach Forge and a Daedric gauntlet, among other things, were waiting to be found. A journal on a table near the gauntlet brought up some interesting questions in my mind and I pocketed it and the key laying there. If I ever remembered to I would have to see about the alleged rings being stored in the Arcanaeum.

At one point I heard a gravelly voice speaking, but there was no body to go with it. “There is no help for you here. There is no solace in knowing what is to come.”

I stared at a convenient wall, waiting to see if more would be said, then continued when nothing was. Eventually I came upon a door I could not open, nor could I pick it.

“Your perseverance will only lead to disappointment. Still you persist? Very well, you may enter.”

I could hear something click, so I reached out and tried to open the door; it gave, so I entered into a circular room with a structure in the middle much like the ones on the ground floors of the twin towers. But this one, instead of having a mage light hovering over it, had a much larger, more diffuse sphere of light.

“You are the Augur of Dunlain?” I inquired.

“I am that which you have been seeking. Your efforts are in vain. It has already begun. But those who have sent you have not told you what they seek. What you seek.”

“You’re correct, they—he—didn’t. But I know that the Eye of Magnus, as they’re calling it, is dangerous, mesmerizing. Even Tolfdir is obsessed with it and that’s just crazy. So I have to assume it’s connected and I have to assume that the Psijics were trying to point me in the direction of something that could counter it, somehow.”

“The Thalmor came seeing answers as well, unaware they will be his undoing. Your path now follows his, though you will arrive too late.”

I didn’t know about that, but then I still didn’t know what I was after. “So Ancano was down here,” I stated.

“He sought information about the Eye, but what he will find shall be quite different. His path will cross yours in time, but first you must find what you need. Your path differs from most. You are being guided, pushed toward something. It is a good path, one untraveled by many. It is a path that can save your College. I will tell you what you need to know to follow it further.”

I was really starting to dislike mystics, and I didn’t mean the school. Maybe I was just confused, but it sounded like the Augur was contradicting himself. Still, politeness often went far. “May I know what it is that I need?”

“You, and those aiding you, wish to know more about the Eye of Magnus. You wish to avoid the disaster of which you are not yet aware. To see through Magnus’s Eye without being blinded, you require his staff. Events now spiral quickly toward the inevitable center, so you must act with haste. Take this knowledge to your Arch-Mage.”

Kind of like a lock and key, but not. “I will do so. Thank you for your time and assistance.” The Augur faded out so I repaired back to the normal College and found Savos again. “I have important information for you,” I told him.

“Really? And what might that be?”

I ground my teeth at his tone. “We need to find the Staff of Magnus.”

“I’m sorry, what? Well . . . I’d certainly love to have such a powerful staff, but I’m not really sure that any of us need it.”

Was it my imagination or had Savos gone pale? “It’s connected to the orb we found.”

“And how do you know of this?”

I tried very hard to keep my face from showing my actual reaction to such a stupid question. “I spoke with the Augur of Dunlain.” Either the Arch-Mage was really rattled about something or he was more distracted than Tolfdir and myself put together.

“Did you really? And he specifically mentioned the Staff of Magnus? I . . . I’m impressed with your initiative. Of course, someone will need to follow up on this.”

I smiled, almost sarcastically. Both the monk and the Augur had already made it clear it would be me. “What should I do next?”

“A most impressive attitude. Keep this up, and you’ll do quite well for yourself.”

I just wanted to continue to improve my magic. I wasn’t necessarily looking to become a teacher or a court wizard.

“Something as specific and ancient as the Staff of Magnus. . . . I’m not sure we’d ever find something like that. I seem to recall Mirabelle mentioning the staff somewhat recently. Why don’t you see if she can tell you anything? I’m quite pleased with your progress, you know. You’ve certainly proven yourself to be more than a mere Apprentice. Well done.” He moved away for a few moments to fetch something. “This circlet once proved invaluable to me. I hope it can be of use to you now.”

###### Revealing the Unseen  
Heartfire, 8th, 4E 201

I found Mirabelle first thing. “Do you know anything about the Staff of Magnus? Arch-Mage Aren said you’d mentioned it recently.”

“Well now that’s an odd question, but I see. Well yes, I suppose I did mention it, though I’m not sure what he expects me to tell you. I only brought it to his attention a few months back when the Synod showed up here looking for it. They were apparently under the impression we were keeping it in a closet somewhere.”

I grinned at the imagery. The Synod was based out of Cyrodiil and were rumored to spend more time collecting and hoarding artifacts than actually doing magic. “The staff may be connected to the Eye of Magnus.”

“The ‘Eye of Magnus’? I can appreciate that this . . . thing, this orb . . . is very impressive, very unique, and definitely worth studying. But let’s not jump to any conclusions, or assign it importance beyond what we’re certain of.”

“Ah, sorry, the Augur referred to it as the Eye of Magnus, not me,” I clarified.

“The Augur?” She seemed disturbed by that information. “Just what have you gotten yourself involved in? Whatever is going on, whatever you’re up to. . . . Be very careful.”

“I will do my best to be so,” I assured her. There was no sense telling her about just exactly what was pushing me forward on this, though I suppose I could have just walked away from it all. But, I was the one who ended up finding the way, so. . . .

“Well,” she said, “it’s said to be very powerful. Has the capacity to store an incredible amount of magical power, as the story goes. But it’s more myth than anything at this point. I’ve no doubt it actually exists, but no one has seen it in what, decades? Longer? I’m not sure. The only time I’ve heard it mentioned was when those Synod characters showed up looking for it.”

“Did they have any ideas aside from our closets?”

“Well. . . .” She absentmindedly ran her thumb over her lower lip, then said, “They inquired about the ruins of Mzulft, but that’s all I remember. It sounded like they were heading there, though they were rather secretive about why. I suppose if you’re intent on looking for the staff, there’s a chance they might be in Mzulft yet. Just don’t expect them to be cooperative.”

I got her to mark my map and stopped by my room again long enough to grab some things, then went down into town to find Erandur. We barely got out of town when another guard said the fatal words. That one counted as number five for my collection. Erandur still failed to notice. He had stopped to adjust a twisted strap on his robes.

According to my map Mzulft was a bit south and a little east of Windhelm, so the journey should not be too taxing.

Unfortunately I got distracted by the hot springs on the way, and by yet another guard saying those words. That brought the count up to six. Did they still go to Sovngarde when they died by Divine intervention? Er, Daedric intervention?

There was a word wall up on a peak of sorts: Krah—Cold. After that we headed roughly east, skirting a Giant camp, and finally arrived at Mzulft.

“I’ve never been inside a Dwemer ruin,” Erandur said as we looked at the exterior. “I can’t imagine what happened to the Dwemer. How could a race with the capability to build a place like this simply vanish?”

I checked a nearby small building and looted the place, including finding a strange piece of bluish material, then headed over to the main ruin. In the entryway through the doors I spotted a man propped up against a wall and hastened over.

“Crystal . . . gone. . . . Find . . . Paratus . . . in Oculory. . . .”

He expired right in front of our eyes, before we even had a chance to try to help. Well, I could have ignored what he was trying to tell us and prepared a spell. I was a little slow on the uptake there, to my chagrin.

There was only one way to go. I gently checked over the Synod member for anything that might help us, or the colleague he directed us to, then went for the door inward.

“This place could be massive,” Erandur warned, “very easy to get lost. We have to be careful not to lose our way.”

“Oh, I agree, friend, I agree.” The key I’d taken from the researcher fit the door, so through it we went. There were steam piston traps triggered by rigged floor plates, Falmer, chaurus, Falmer traps, Dwemer automatons, and more dead researchers. Eventually we reached a huge room with multiple exits, though at least one of them was blocked off by a cave in. There were also stairs leading up to a higher level in the room, and Falmer and their huts were scattered around. “Okay, let’s do this,” I whispered.

I had long since gotten tired of bothering to collect anything off the Falmer we had to kill, but I searched them regardless for they did occasionally have gems or other small items of interest. Of the ones in that huge room, one had a strange crystal neither I nor Erandur could identify. I shrugged and pocketed it anyway.

I went to open the door at the top and found it locked. The lock was too complicated for me to pick by the looks of it, but I was prepared to try. I paused when I heard a voice from the other side.


	6. 1.6 The College of Winterhold

07042015-08042015

## 1.6

###### Revealing the Unseen  
Heartfire, 8th, 4E 201

I exchanged a look with Erandur as the voice said, “G-Gavros? Is that you? I’d almost given up hope. Let me get the door. . . .” Moments later we heard a click and the door opened, revealing another member of the Synod. This had to be Paratus. “What the—what are you doing here? What’ve you done with Gavros?”

“Your friend Gavros is dead,” I said softly.

“It was the Falmer, wasn’t it?” he said with some heat. “Curse them! They’ve ruined everything! If Gavros is gone, there’s no hope. He was supposed to return with the crystal. Without that, all our efforts are wasted. And you. If you’re here for treasure, or wisdom, or anything, I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time. There’s just me, alone, surrounded by angry machines and angrier Falmer.”

“Crystal?” I said, thinking about the one we’d found.

“It didn’t work the first time. I tried to tell Gavros, but he wouldn’t listen. ‘No, it won’t be too cold,’ he said. Well, I was right, wasn’t I? Focused completely wrong by the time we got here! The cold had warped it! Gavros had to cart it all the way back to Cyrodiil. Left the rest of us here to fend off the damnable Falmer.”

While I rather wondered if Paratus had lost his mind, there all alone, I fetched out the crystal and said, “Is this the crystal you were after? I found it on one of the Falmer out there.”

Paratus’s whole face lit up. “You found—how in the world—that’s it! I don’t know who you are, but you may have just saved this little project. In fact, who are you, anyway?”

“Ah, I’m with the College of Winterhold.”

“You are, are you? Savos wouldn’t even grant us an audience when we came to you, but now you come here expecting something from me? I don’t much like this, I’ll tell you. But you saved my skin, so maybe I can overlook the past for now. Come on, I’ll explain on the way.”

Well, at least I wouldn’t need to try charming him.

“No matter what Gavros said, this was my idea,” Paratus insisted as he led us down the hall. “The Council is going to know that when I get back. I was the one who thought of using this . . . this Oculory. I don’t know what the Dwemer called it. Something unpronounceable, I’m sure. From all our research, it seems they were intent on discerning the nature of the divine. This machinery, all of it, was designed to collect starlight, and then . . . I’m not sure. Split it, somehow? It was my idea to replace one of the key elements with our focusing crystal. Months of enchantments went into it. Let’s just hope they got it right this time.”

Halfway down the corridor was an short offshoot with doors, and at the end was another set. Paratus led us to the end of the hall and opened the doors to reveal a massive sphere of whatever alloy it was the Dwemer used. I could see translucent walkways up above. Paratus veered left and kept walking, coming to a stone ramp that curved upward.

“Here it is. Magnificent, isn’t it? Took an incredible amount of work to get it running again. Now I’m hoping it’ll all be worth it. Place the crystal in the central apparatus, and we can start the process for focusing it.”

Hold on now, that sounded like I would be doing all the work. Sure. Paratus was steadily worsening my opinion of his level of greediness and laziness. I tried to keep in mind how shaken up he must be, but. . . . I hopped over the slight ridge circling the apparatus and fit the crystal into place. The whole thing flipped upside down, startling me.

“What now?” Erandur asked.

“Now the crystal needs to be focused. It was created so far away, we knew some adjustments would have to be made. Heating and cooling the crystal will cause it to expand or contract, which will change how the light passes through it. You’ll need to use spells to do that. Being from the College, I assume you know them already. There should be a few basic tomes around here somewhere in case your training is even more substandard than I’ve heard.”

I frowned and shared a look with Erandur, then poked around to see which tomes Paratus referred to. Did he mean constant flames or frost, or short bursts? The first tome I found was for Flames, so that question was handily answered. The buttons the next level up from the transparent floor were a mystery as well. I pushed the left one and saw one of what I had thought were simply decorative bands encircling the ceiling rotate.

There were beams of light coming from the focusing crystal, but where they landed seemed random. There were three of them, though, and three bands. A quick, whispered conversation with Erandur gave us an idea so he went down and cast Frostbite at the crystal, cutting the spell off when the beams of light moved. They weren’t each pointing at the bands so he cast again, then a third time. He looked back up at me and I nodded; it was time to push buttons.

The left button, controlling the top band, already had a beam of light hitting the circular seal on it so I hit the middle button instead. A couple of minutes later everything was aligned and Erandur got a surprised look on his face. I rushed down the ramp and looked. There, on the wall just below where I had been standing, was an image fashioned from light.

Paratus scurried over, a gleeful expression on his face. “Years of work, finally going to pay off—but what’s this? These results. . . . They’re not at all what they should be. This projection should be lit up like the night sky. Something is creating an incredible amount of interference. Something in Winterhold, it looks like.”

He shot an accusing look at us. “What are you playing at? Is this some attempt to stall my work!? So, what is it? What have you done? Did you know what we were attempting? Are you here to make sure your plan worked, that our efforts have been for nothing? Well, explain yourself!”

I eyed the image and saw that there were two areas of disturbance on the map; one was indeed Winterhold. The other, however, looked to be somewhere north of Whiterun. Rather, north-northwest? “So you’re saying there should have been more indicators on the map?” I asked.

Paratus tugged at his hair. “Yes! You show up here just as our work nears completion, and now I can’t get any results from this because of something at your College. Do you think me a fool? Do you think I’m too stupid to make the connection? You’ve ruined my work!”

Or maybe there were simply two things in Skyrim worth investigating on the level he was speaking of.

“You have something at your College, don’t you?” he insisted. “Something immensely powerful. Beyond anything I’d anticipated. What is it?”

It wasn’t my place to say, really. “We might have something, yes,” I said cagily.

“Well, now. This I hadn’t considered. If that’s taken into account, these results make more sense.”

If the Eye was the Winterhold disturbance, could it be possible the other one was the Staff? I pointed at the secondary point and asked, “So where is this, do you think? I’m not from Skyrim, but you seem much more erudite than I.”

Paratus preened for a moment and smiled. “Well, that can only be Labyrinthian.”

“You really are, then,” I said, trying to keep up the flattery. “I have trouble keeping places in this country straight. Say, have you ever heard of something called the Staff of Magnus? I overheard a mage at an inn I stayed at speaking of it, but I thought it was just a myth. You’re part of the Synod, though, so you’d probably know better.”

“Well, now, there’s an idea. Maybe that’s what’s causing the other disturbance,” he mused. “It could be, I suppose. It’s supposed to be very powerful, after all.” He stepped up to the image and started to scrutinize it, seeming to forget Erandur and I were even there.

I sidled away and caught Erandur’s eye. We quietly took our leave and I waited until we were out in the corridor again before saying, “I think he’s gone mad.”

“I think you may be right.”

We reached that offshoot and I was going to check the door, but before I could take more than a few steps another Psijic Monk appeared and mucked about with time. He warned me that I would encounter difficulties ahead—they’d only been telling me that the whole time, damn it—and assured me that I was on the right path, that I would prevail, and then urged me to return to the College with all haste. Then he vanished.

From that I took a couple of ideas. One, that Labyrinthian probably held the Staff of Magnus, and two, that all hell had probably broken loose at the College, or was about to.

###### Heartfire, 9th, 4E 201

During our journey back we stumbled over that party heading to Solitude again. This was, I thought, the third time, at least. And they were still heading the wrong way! Windhelm is not Solitude and not even on the same side of the country. Were these people too “noble” to ask directions? Hire a guide? Ride in a carriage?

We made it back as quickly as we could manage only to find that Ancano had gone crazy and was holed up in the Hall of the Elements with the Eye. Some kind of ward was preventing Savos and Mirabelle from getting in.

“I don’t know,” Mirabelle was saying. “It’s like a ward, but who’s casting it? Ancano? How?”

“I don’t care what it is,” Savos snarled, “I want it down now! I want to know what he’s doing in there!”

“I know where to find the Staff of Magnus, but I guess that can wait. Can I help somehow?” I asked.

“Help take this down, will you?” Savos said. “We’re throwing everything we can at it.”

I immediately started casting fire at the thing and Erandur joined in, as well. The ward buckled and shattered under the combined assault, and Savos and Mirabelle pushed open the doors and rushed in.

I could see that Ancano was doing something to—with?—the Eye, like he was drawing power from it.

“What’s going on!?” Mirabelle demanded.

“Ancano! Stop this at once! I command you!” The Arch-Mage advanced on Ancano with a spell prepared.

Mirabelle must have seen or understood something I didn’t because she cried out, “Don’t go near him!”

And then everything went white and I lost consciousness. Some untold time later I became aware that someone was shaking me gently; it was Erandur. I slowly got to my feet and looked around. Mirabelle was propped up against one of the pillars looking like death.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “Can you walk? I need you on your feet. We’re in trouble here.”

“I’ll manage,” I assured her. Sure, I might bash into the odd wall at first, but I’d be fine.

“Ancano is doing something with that thing—the Eye. We can’t stop him! I haven’t seen Savos since the explosion. He must’ve been blown clear, and he may be injured. I need you to find the Arch-Mage, and I need you to do it quickly! Get moving!”

###### Containment  
Heartfire, 9th, 4E 201

Outside—outside was Aren’s body. He was dead. The doors into the Hall had been knocked open by the blast, or by Aren as he was flung against them. Members of the College were gathering to try to make sense of what had happened.

“He’s not. . . .” Sergius couldn’t finish that thought.

“Is he dead?” Phinius asked in disbelief.

“Everyone please, stand back!” Tolfdir said strongly. “Please remain calm!” To me he said, “Are you all right? What happened in there?”

I must really have looked worse for wear. “Ancano is what happened. He’s done something with the Eye.”

“By the Nine,” Tolfdir replied. “Is he responsible for this? The Arch-Mage, dead?” He shook his head. “There’s more, though. Something’s happened to Winterhold. It must be whatever Ancano did. You need to get out there and make sure it’s safe. Quickly now, quickly! I’ll find Mirabelle and see if we can’t put a stop to this!”

Erandur actually got a head-start on me. It was really heartwarming how he pitched in when he didn’t strictly need to. We got to the top of the bridge and were stopped by Faralda.

“What’s going on? What happened in there?”

“Ancano happened. Tolfdir sent me to make sure Winterhold isn’t in danger.”

Faralda raised a brow. “Take a look. I don’t think there’s much question that it is. Let’s get down there and do something about it. Come on, Arniel. Let’s go.”

“Do we have to?” he complained. “They’d never lift a finger to help us.”

I pushed past him and rushed along the bridge. There were things down there, something like the things accompanying wisp mothers or like ice wraiths, and I knew the guards would have a hard time dealing with them.

After killing off about a dozen Faralda swept the area visually and said, “That looks like the last of them. We’ll stay here. You get back to the College and let them know what’s going on. Arniel, stay on your guard. We can’t let harm come to these people.”

I exhaled heavily and turned around to race back up the bridge. No one was in the courtyard so I plowed through the doors back into the Hall of the Elements. Mirabelle was still awake and Tolfdir was with her. She saw me and quickly asked, “Well? Is everything out there all right?”

I tried to catch my breath and answer at the same time. “Winterhold is safe for now. Faralda and Arniel are still down there, just in case.”

“Wish I could say the same for us. Tolfdir and I can try to keep this contained. You need to get your hands on the Staff of Magnus. Now.”

I didn’t see any point in arguing. I simply wouldn’t mention the part where I would have to stop and get some sleep. Erandur and I had been pushing hard all day and even I needed some sleep. “Then I’m off to Labyrinthian,” I said.

Mirabelle just about gawked at me. “What? Are you—are you sure? The staff is there? That can’t be a coincidence.”

“Coincidence?”

“Savos. Before—before he died. He—he gave me something just a little while ago. He told me it was from Labyrinthian, and that I would know what to do with it when the time came. I think—I think he meant this for you, then.” She produced a large torc from somewhere in her robes and offered it to me. “I’m not sure why, but there was something very personal about it for him. Also, I think you should take this amulet.” She glanced at Tolfdir, who handed it to me. “It belonged to Savos, but I think it would do you the most good now. Take it, and get out of here. Bring back that staff before Ancano brings the whole College down around us.” 

###### The Staff of Magnus  
Heartfire, 9th, 4E 201

I nodded and tucked both items away, then left. I would have to unload everything I could from Horse to lighten the load so that Erandur could ride if he was coming along. I could run a lot faster than I usually did still without sprinting, so. . . . Once I ascertained that Erandur wanted to come along, because I wasn’t going to assume, I asked him to help me unload Horse and store everything in my room. Then we took rooms at the inn in town, more so I would be out of Mirabelle’s sight. I didn’t want her fretting over me still being there and the necessity of sleep.

That night, in the dubious privacy of my inn room, I finally reacted. I barely even knew Aren. He had made the occasional comment to me, either in passing or those times we had directly spoken, but I found that I was quite sad. Maybe it was just the devastation on the faces of the higher ranked members of the College? A part of me wanted to shed a tear for the man’s passing, but I couldn’t. I simply didn’t have enough of a connection to Aren to manage it.

###### Heartfire, 10th, 4E 201

Erandur rode Horse and I ran alongside. We took the usual route out of Winterhold, then west, then cut down the south road toward Whiterun. Not long after we passed Loreius Farm we cut west across the tundra to get to the road into Labyrinthian. It was harder on Horse because of vagaries of that path, but it was much quicker than coming in from the north, at least according to my map. Horse was not happy about climbing all those stairs.

I left him outside the walls where hopefully nothing would come after him. He was a coward, so I knew he’d run if necessary and return when it was safe. I had no real idea where to go once we got beyond the walls, but a flicker of ethereal blue caught my attention. We headed for that, frying a few trolls along the way, and dashed up a multitude of steps.

There, before a simply enormous set of doors, was a ghostly version of Savos. And then others appeared, and Savos spoke. “Come on, we’re finally here! Let’s not waste any more time!”

The Argonian (I could see the tail) said, “Are we truly sure this is a good idea?”

“We’ll be back at the College before anyone even knows we’re gone,” said a female.

“You would care about that,” said a male, “since you’re the Arch-Mage’s favorite!”

“Don’t forget,” Savos said, “this whole idea was Atmah’s to begin with.”

“Let’s just get inside,” said a different male, “see what’s in there.”

A second later all but Savos vanished. He spoke to me directly. “I knew you’d come eventually. It would seem I’m bound to this place. The bitter irony of it all—my greatest failure, and even in death I can’t escape it. I never meant for any of what happened here. Tried to seal it up, lock it away forever. But now it all comes out again. . . .” He then disappeared.

“I—” I sighed and glanced at Erandur. Somehow he—had he not witnessed that? What was so damn different about me that I kept seeing things no one else did? Or gaining understanding of things that were disconnected and still so mysterious? After a huff of frustration I looked at the door and realized it was missing something. I brought out the torc and fit it into place. It knocked by itself and the doors opened for us. Inside the spirits appeared again.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” one of the females said.

“Can you imagine the looks on their faces when we come back?” Savos said.

“You keep talking like you’re sure we’ll find something useful in here.”

I was having a hard time keeping track of any voice aside from Aren’s, to be honest.

“Enchanted weapons, tomes of ancient knowledge, Shalidor’s secrets themselves—who knows what we could find!” Savos said.

The Argonian countered with, “And what if—what if there are things guarding this place?”

“Against six College-trained mages? I think we’ll be fine,” the first female said dismissively. I thought that one was Atmah.

Again they all vanished but Savos. “There were six of us. Full of ambition, eager to conquer the world. It was Atmah’s idea to come here, at first. She talked me into it, and I convinced the others. We were sure we’d find it all here, hidden away from time. Power, knowledge. . . . All the things we didn’t want to wait for. We thought it would be so simple,” he said to me, then disappeared.

Erandur again did not hear or notice, so I shook my head and took a look around for anything of interest. I found a spell tome, but that was it. We continued on and came to a short hall barred at the end, leading into a vast room. There were levers to either side, presumably to lift the gate. I pressed up against the bars to get a better sense of the room, then backed up. “Erandur, there are skeletons wandering around in there. What do you think about the idea of us conjuring some atronachs through the bars and letting them clear it out before we go in?”

“Enough to warrant that? Yes, then, I think it’s a fine idea.”

We crowded back down the short hall and carefully took aim in order to get the spells through the bars, then each conjured atronachs. The skeletons seemed to sense where we were, but the atronachs were more of an immediate threat. And then something happened that defied belief.

“Are you seeing this?” I asked Erandur. “Because I’m having trouble believing I’m seeing what I am.”

“That’s a dragon,” he whispered. “An undead, skeletal dragon.”

“Okay, then,” I replied, still staring through the bars. I conjured another atronach when mine went down and Erandur shortly did the same. When the skeletons were all down and it was just the dragon left I said, “Well, do we keep on with the atronachs or do you want to risk going in there to attack it directly?”

“I’m feeling brave today,” he said.

“Okay, hang on. I’ll go pull the lever. Unless you want to.”

“It’s fine.”

I ran back and yanked, then rushed forward again. A good thing, perhaps, since the bars slammed back down almost as soon as I made it through. Erandur was already shooting spells at the dragon so I joined in. It . . . went down a lot more easily than I would have expected, actually. I wasn’t quite sure what that might mean.

I eyed the spot where the dragon had risen and realized something. It looked almost exactly like things I had seen in my travels, except those were convex. Did all of those contain dragon skeletons? Beyond the area was a much smaller room in which the spirits again appeared.

“We—we have to go back. We can’t leave Girduin.”

“We barely made it out alive, and you want to go back in?”

“What was that thing, anyway?” the Argonian asked.

“It’s too late,” Atmah said sorrowfully. “There’s isn’t enough of him left to go back in after.”

“Gods,” the Argonian said, “what have we done?”

“We can’t go back. Might as well go forward. We can still do this.”

“Savos is right,” Atmah said. “We can make it if we just stay alert.”

Savos said, as the others vanished, “Girduin died first. It happened so fast, none of us had a chance to react. One moment we joked about what we’d find below, the next he’d been ripped in half. And then we were all fighting just to survive. None of us were prepared. It was amazing the rest of us survived. When it was over, Atmah, Hafnar and I stared, pale-faced, at one another, unwilling to admit we’d made a terrible mistake. We could have turned back. It could have ended there. But we kept going.”

I frowned as he vanished. That could have meant several of things I could think of offhand. One, that the bars couldn’t be opened from this side. Two, that dragons (skeletal or otherwise) could not be fooled by invisibility. Or both. Or none of them could make themselves invisible, either by spell or potion. Three, what we faced was not what they had faced, because surely they would have recognized a dragon, even in skeletal form. I also had to wonder just how different our respective trips were. Had they run into that much more opposition? Or were they so very unskilled yet so very confident? I turned to Erandur and shared my thoughts.

“I . . . don’t know,” he said. “You’re right, though. This seems to be a much easier trip for us than for them.”

They had been arrayed around a plinth of sorts with a plaque affixed to the top. It read:

> #### Hail All—Brave City Bromjunaar
> 
> #### Forever These Walls Shall Stand
> 
> #### May Enemies See Her Majesty
> 
> #### May All Quake to Behold Her

We kept going, eventually coming to an odd little room with a frozen over door to the side and an alcove with a plinth and a book. A few steps in caused the both of us to stagger as our magicka pools were drained.

“Wo meyz wah dii vul junaar?”

“What was that?” I gasped, trying to catch my breath. “That sounded like an oddly articulate draugr.”

“Do you think they had to deal with whatever that was, too?” he asked.

I shrugged and went to check the book. I already knew the spell, so I ignored it. I turned back to the door and sent a stream of flames at it to melt the ice, and was consequently surprised when something let out a death gurgle and dropped to the floor. “Okay, we should keep that in mind if we run across a similar door.”

Deeper in that voice spoke again and our magicka was drained. “Nivahriin muz gent siiv nid aaz het.”

I was staring right at a draugr, but that wasn’t what was speaking.

“You do not answer. Must I use this guttural language of yours?”

‘Hey, friend, your language isn’t exactly smooth on the tongue, either,’ I thought.

“Have you returned, Aren? My old friend?”

Whatever this thing was—and I certainly had some suspicions—was no damn friend of Savos. I just wish he had warned me before. He must have had some idea where things were leading if he gave the torc to Mirabelle, so. . . .

I conjured another atronach when I recovered, to help with the draugr, but I seriously needed to get better at it so I could conjure them farther away. I felt as though I had to aim the spell practically at my feet!

“Do you seek to finish that which you could not?” the voice asked a bit later. “You only face failure once more.”

I groaned and leaned against the wall. I couldn’t see Erandur and wondered where he was. While I waited I searched the room, muttering under my breath about how being short was a real pain at times. Getting stuff off the top shelf was an adventure in itself.

There was blood everywhere, with a trail of it leading away into a twisty corridor that was almost hidden from sight given how the room was constructed. Erandur showed up at that point, thankfully. I kept forgetting he could not move as fast as I could, even with his greater height.

“You—you are not Aren, are you? Has he sent you in his place? Did he warn you that your own power would be your undoing? That it would only serve to strengthen me?”

I might have cursed over that statement were it not for the damn troll that popped up to attack us! I cursed over that instead and dropped right off the side of the staircase we were on so I could flank the damn thing. Once it was dead I did something, well, rebellious? There was an ore vein down where I dropped to so I took some time to mine it. The pick striking helped to calm me.

‘No,’ I thought, ‘I am hardly Aren. But I am more than a little creeped out by this place.’ Having one’s magicka drained was awful, though it regenerated fairly quickly. No, I was more worried about having it drained during whatever inevitable battle was coming up with the owner of that voice. I didn’t even know what he meant, being strengthened. Did that mean he had been severely weakened over time, or something, and our stolen reserves were bringing him back to full strength? I still had my bow if I was forced to use it.

We found another one of those blocked doors, this time by fire. Whatever or whoever we were coming up on had control of the draugr, and draugr were supposed to be those who served the dragons and were cursed to servitude even in death, or something along those lines. That would mean the voice was probably that of a dragon priest.

Beyond that the spirits appeared again.

“Just another minute, please,” the Argonian said.

“Come on, we can’t stop now,” Savos replied. “We have to keep moving!”

“Where’s Elvali? She was right behind me,” Atmah said, looking behind them, at us.

“Dead,” said the male I still did not know the name of, but now assumed was Hafnar. “Something grabbed her from behind. Gone before I could do anything.”

“You’re right,” Atmah said. “This is all my fault. Should we turn around, head back?”

“I don’t think going back is a good idea,” Hafnar cautioned.

“Going back would be the end of all of us,” Savos insisted. “We keep pushing forward, and we’ll make it. We will!”

I hadn’t heard it so easily earlier, but I could detect the rising desperation in Aren’s voice.

“Come on, you can make it,” Atmah said a bit listlessly. “Let’s go.”

Savos stayed long enough to say, “Elvali died here. I don’t even remember what killed her. One of the countless faceless horrors. I think she was glad, in that final moment. Hafnar was covered in blood, but his stupid Nord pride wouldn’t let him admit defeat. I—I don’t know why I pressed the others on, convinced them to keep going. ‘If we can just make it through, it’ll all be worth it,’ I told them. And the fools believed the words I myself didn’t trust.”

I was unable to ponder the “memory” or Aren’s words further due to a shouty draugr, a Deathlord, as I titled them. It was quite difficult to stay on my feet when it bellowed, but I did a better job of it than Erandur. Maybe the difference in height was helping me?

When we found a word wall I called a break and Erandur was pleased to agree. I fetched out a blood potion and drained it, feeling almost immediately better, and Erandur leaned against a wall (better that than sitting when who knew what might trundle in and attempt to kill us) to eat his food. While he was doing that I wandered over by the wall and examined it: Tiid—Time.


	7. 1.7 The College of Winterhold

08042015

## 1.7

###### The Staff of Magnus  
Heartfire, 10th, 4E 201

We pressed on once we felt rested and fed. More stairs, having our reserves drained, pools of water streaming by (that made me wonder if one or more earth shakes in the past had cracked something and diverted an underground water vein through the place, or if it had been designed that way on purpose). There were also spectral versions of draugr with spectral weapons, but they were unlike the spirit forms of Savos and his group. They actually attacked us, but one of them—I was too busy laughing, to be honest. It had no weapon and it kept doing little girly slaps at me with one hand. I suppose a Nord might say it was acting like a milk drinker.

I picked up one each of their weapons, regardless of whether I would end up using them or not. If nothing else they would look lovely displayed on my wall, one each of spectral bow, sword, and battleaxe. The bow seemed to drain magicka, and other two health and stamina, respectively.

“Come. Face your end.”

Damn it! Erandur and I fetched up against a wall again to recover, keeping the stone to our backs, then moved on, eventually coming to a set of doors that looked . . . intimidating, for lack for a better word. The spirits appeared again, just three of them.

“We shouldn’t have left her there to die!” Atmah cried in distress.

“What else could we do?” Savos replied. “Stay there and die with her? She refused to go on, we didn’t have a choice!”

So the Argonian had given up. I had to wonder if a single mage could have made it back out if they were careful, stuck to the shadows. . . . But what Erandur and I were seeing here was a century or more later so there was no telling just what she would have been up against on her own.

“This is it, you know. Through this door. Can you feel it?” Hafnar said.

“We’re not going to make it, are we?” Atmah said, whatever confidence she had managed to grasp onto obviously gone.

“We stay together, no matter what. Agreed?”

“I’ll be right with you,” Atmah replied.

“Agreed. We all stay together,” Savos said as the other two vanished. To me he said, “There were only three of us left. Takes-In-Light just sat down and gave up, and we left her there to die. I’ve no idea what killed her, but I’m sure something did. Atmah cried to herself. Hafnar wouldn’t look at either of us. And I kept telling them it would be all right. I was in charge now. I pushed them on, insisting it would be worse to try and go back. What happened after was my fault. All mine.

“We all knew this was the end. Without even opening the door, we knew what was behind it would kill us. None of our spells were potent enough, none of our wills were strong enough. ‘No matter what, we stay together,’ Hafnar said. I looked him in the eyes and lied to him.”

I looked at Erandur as Savos disappeared. “I kind of dread whatever we might find on the other side.”

“I do, too,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“As much as I can be. Let’s duck through, eye the situation from right there, and decide what to do at that point.” When he nodded I tried to ease the door open as quietly as possible, and only enough for each of us to slide through the opening.

I saw beams of light. There were two spectral people on narrow balconies or overlooks aiming those beams. To the right was a ward bubble they were maintaining. Inside it was a dragon priest. “Something tells me we can’t get at the priest without taking on the two spirits,” I whispered, “and that the priest has the damn staff.”

I could see him nod in my peripheral vision. “So we have some choices. We can get up behind the spirits and disrupt their ward, then fight the priest from a distance, or one of us can be nearer while the other takes the spirits, or we can both be near the priest and switch targets the second the ward is down.”

“I’m not going to decide for you,” I said with a sigh. “I would say we could leave, but I have the feeling if Ancano isn’t stopped he might end up causing another explosion, one so big it wipes the College and Winterhold off the map, or worse.”

“One of us has to survive this,” he replied, and I just knew he was having those atonement thoughts again. “I’ll stay near the priest to attack the moment he’s free. You go take out those spirits, release them from this torment.”

“All right,” I said slowly. “Be careful! You do Mara no good if you’re dead.” I carefully picked my way along, forward, up the stairs, and found a vantage point where I could aim at both spirits. Behind me was a staircase leading down to a door, but that would have to wait. It was probably some kind of alternate exit from this accursed place. I saw Erandur was in position and giving me a nod to proceed, so I threw fire at the first spirit, Hafnar, I think.

He—woke up, I guess. Hafnar stood and pivoted, looking for his attacker, threatening to kill them. I don’t know what had been done exactly, but he seemed bound to the duty of keeping the priest contained. I ended him as quickly as I could, trying to keep an eye on the priest. The ward remained, so I knew that taking out Atmah would cause it to drop. Erandur was still poised to act, so I attacked Atmah. The ward went down and Erandur acted. I had to take down Atmah as quickly as possible so I could help against the priest. Thankfully, she wasn’t any more difficult to lay to rest, not after being there for so long.

The priest, however, he floated, the skeevy fetcher. He also liked to use shock spells, draining some of our reserves. There was . . . a lot of running around and strategic retreats, but we eventually cornered the priest and laid into him with everything we had. And we won. The priest dissolved into ash, leaving behind only his armor—if you could even call it that—the staff, and his mask.

Once I caught my breath I examined the mask and saw something etched on it: Morokei.

We went back around and up and then down the other side, and I swiped anything of interest along the way. Through the door at the back Savos appeared to me again.

“I had no choice, don’t you see? I had to leave them behind, had to sacrifice them so I could make it out alive. If we’d all died there, if we’d loosed the thing on the world, who knows what might have happened? That’s how I consoled myself for years, after I’d sealed this place shut and vowed never to let anyone open it. Now you’ve put it all to rest, but it can’t undo my mistakes. They can never be undone.”

As he faded I thought, ‘And I’m not the one who can forgive you.’ It did make some things clear, however. Even after rising to Arch-Mage Savos had been drained by the whole experience, haunted by it. It explained a bit about why he always seemed so distant and remote, and only woke up when he realized where events at the College were leading. He did what he thought he had to, but his words—they made me think. How he said it. Had those two volunteered to enact the containment, or. . . ?

We emerged into the more familiar look of a Nordic tomb, and someone was waiting.

“So, you made it out of there alive,” he said. He was wearing Thalmor robes. “Ancano was right—you are dangerous. I’m afraid I’ll have to take that staff from you now. Ancano wants it kept safe. Oh, and he wants you dead. Nothing personal.”

Erandur and I had just fried a dragon priest into submission and this idiot thought we’d be intimidated? “Get out of my way before I do something you’ll regret,” I shot back.

And he attacked. And died. And was drained. Hm, Altmer blood always tasted a bit fruity. What really surprised me was when we exited the tomb we were standing high up, on one of those, uh, guard walkways. It had suffered some calamity and was broken in the middle, causing me to wonder just how exactly Ancano’s little friend had gotten into that part of the tomb.

###### The Eye of Magnus  
Heartfire, 11th, 4E 201

The barrier Ancano had placed around the Hall of the Elements had expanded to encompass the entire College and more of those anomalies were darting around and attacking. We raced up to Arniel, Faralda, and Tolfdir just as they took down the last one visible.

“I hope there aren’t any more,” Tolfdir said, then noticed me. “You survived! You have it, then? Let’s hope it’s as powerful as the Psijics believe it to be.”

I hefted the staff and said, “Where’s Mirabelle?”

“She—she didn’t make it,” Tolfdir admitted. “When it was clear we were going to have to fall back, she stayed behind and made sure the rest of us were all right.”

The students and other faculty were probably at the inn, then, I supposed. It was time to see if the Staff of Magnus did anything more than make people lust after its power. I aimed it at the barrier and activated it, and was pleased and surprised to see that the barrier drained away in seconds. We raced into the College and to the Hall of the Elements.

Ancano was there, doing something to the Eye. Channeling its power, perhaps? “You’ve come for me, have you? You think I don’t know what you’re up to? You think I can’t destroy you? The power to unmake the world at my fingertips, and you think you can do anything about it?”

Tolfdir threw fire at him and it just washed by. “Spells have no effect!”

Funny, this was looking a lot like when we first encountered the Eye under Saarthal, except that time draining the ward ended the issue of Jyrik being invulnerable.

“I am beyond your pathetic attempts at magic. You cannot touch me.”

“The Staff!” Tolfdir cried. “Use it on the Eye!”

It was good to see he was thinking along the same lines as I was.

“Enough,” Ancano shouted, then splayed his hands and unleashed a mass paralyzation spell, unfortunately causing Tolfdir and Erandur to drop to the floor. I either only caught the edges of it or my inherent resistance to magic served me very well.

“Still you persist?” Ancano said. “Very well. Come then. See what I can do now.”

‘You can die now,’ I thought, and aimed the staff at the Eye of Magnus and activated it. I saw immediately that the sphere, which had opened along the seams and was spilling out a bright blue light, started to close. Ancano looked alarmed at that and retreated behind a pillar when it fully closed. I took that to mean he was vulnerable and conjured an atronach.

We played a game then. I would drain the Eye, he would take a lot of damage, and then he would find a better spot and start accessing the Eye again. The effects of the paralyzation spell wore off and Tolfdir and Erandur were able to help, which was a good thing given that more of those anomalies were being released from the Eye every time it was opened. Ancano went down and we cleared up the last of the anomalies. There were little puddles of ethereal goo everywhere.

“I knew you could do it!” Tolfdir said happily.

I shrugged. “What do we do now? This thing isn’t safe.”

“I—I don’t know. Ancano is gone, but whatever he’s done to the Eye doesn’t seem to have stopped. I have no idea what to do!”

The world went funny for a moment and one of those Psijic Monks appeared. “We knew you would succeed,” he told me, which rather contradicted some of the things I had heard before—or maybe my memory was off. “Your victory here justifies our belief in you. You have proven yourself more than worthy to guide the College of Winterhold.”

Say what now? I had yet to even achieve Master level in even one school, never mind all of them. I wasn’t even at Adept level in all of them yet. “I don’t happen to agree, but—well, what do we do now? The Eye is too dangerous and attracts power-mad fools.”

“The Eye has grown unstable, yes,” he said. “It cannot remain here, or else it may destroy your College and this world. Ancano’s actions prove the world is not ready for such a thing.”

‘No, it proves that power-mad fools will seek to use it, not that Tolfdir is going to go on a rampage tomorrow.’

“We shall safeguard it . . . for now. You now have the opportunity to maintain your College, and carry on with your lives. You have our gratitude, Arch-Mage.”

I huffed. I could only hope the Psijics were better at not abusing power, despite knowing they must have been spying on me from the moment I touched that stupid amulet. Two of his fellow Psijics teleported in and the three took places equidistant around the Eye, then vanished with it.

“You’ve done it!” Tolfdir cried. “The College is safe again, thanks to your work. I knew you had it in you. I daresay the Psijics are right. There’s no one more deserving to be Arch-Mage, in my opinion. Here, consider this yours.” He shoved a key in my hand. “The robes of office are in your new quarters, as well. I shall be here for advice, should you need me.”

I frowned. I considered pouting. Instead I asked Erandur if he would be a sweetheart and head to the inn to let everyone know it was safe to return, and that he could bunk in my old room if he wanted to rather than paying for a room at the inn this time. “Ah, I’m going to go take a nap,” I told Tolfdir, then took off for my new rooms. Well, room. It _was_ just a big circular room with a partial divider.

###### Heartfire, 13th, 4E 201

I hunted down Tolfdir and had a long talk with him about the College. Since I got stuck being the new Arch-Mage I appointed him as the new Master-Wizard. It wasn’t as though Mirabelle could—ugh. I barely knew her, either, but. . . . I should be grateful we came out of this with only two deaths. I hardly counted Ancano, because he wasn’t a member and was spying on us anyway.

After that I also pulled the other trainers into the discussion. “Look,” I said, “I realize I can’t exactly get out of being Arch-Mage, not after some Psijic ordained it, but I am hardly ready for this kind of responsibility. And I will never advance my skills sitting around here all day every day. So, Tolfdir is the new Master-Wizard, but I want each of you to please pitch in when you’re aren’t otherwise occupied with training students or working on your own research or experiments.”

I supposed it wouldn’t be much of a burden spread out, and the majority of the work was keeping track of supplies for the College, and payments for said supplies. After they dispersed I poked around my new quarters and tried on the robes—way too big. But I also found an amulet with the College’s symbol, and it seemed to have the same enchantments on it as the robes, so I wore that instead. I could have a new set of robes made and enchanted by whoever it was who handled that—Sergius, probably—to wear when I was actually being Arch-Mage, but the amulet would be fine for roaming around.

I tracked down Erandur and told him that I’d like to roam alone for a while and gave him a hefty amount of coin. When he protested I again pointed out that he could use it to travel extensively and spread the word and love of Mara around Skyrim. If he needed to get me a message for some reason he could send one here to the College, or perhaps Elysium. I also checked in with various instructors to see what they had for sale in the way of spell tomes or robes with stronger enchantments.

###### Heartfire, 13th, 4E 201

I packed up Horse (that took several trips as it wasn’t like I could lead the poor thing all the way up to my previous room) and decided to check in with the Jarl. He positively loathed the College, but somehow did not connect mage’s robes with being a mage, from the College. So, of a mind to be helpful I went off and retrieved a helm for him from some tomb. There was a really crazy fellow in there, too, a necromantic sort, finding wanderers or those lost, killing them, and reviving them as phantasmal servants. I shudder to think exactly what sorts of behavior he’d gotten up to before I killed him.

I had somehow helped enough people of Winterhold beyond getting the helm, and had made a name for myself, such that Jarl Korir named me Thane of Winterhold. All right, then. He gave me a weapon I would never use, made a speech that basically amounted to saying I had no real power, and sent me packing.

I took a room at the inn, mainly because I didn’t want to walk back up to the College again.

###### Heartfire, 14th, 4E 201

I decided, in my infinite wisdom, to head down to Riften and poke around, then perhaps go west, stop at Elysium, spend as little time as possible in or near Markarth. . . . I still had yet to read that Breton’s note, but I was sure it could wait—or it would get resolved before I got around to bothering. For all I knew he tried that trick on every passing outsider.

Ran into a bear along the way and I was reminded of why being a vampire can be so damn handy at times. The beast was just sitting there, posturing and growling to warn me off, blocking the damn road. I was easily able to jump up on a large rock so it was unable to actually attack me when I conjured an atronach and started sending fire at it.

The wilds in The Rift are gorgeous in their own way. So many birches! A would-be thief tried to hold me up and was easily intimidated into running the hell away. I suppose the flames flickering over my hands didn’t hurt. I caught up to him later on. He had found a bear and died to it. I wondered if the thieves in Skyrim were just as inept as the assassins.

My little firefly friend started glowing when it got dark enough, a nice pinkish glow against an already warm-toned landscape. Eh, that sounded absurdly poetic. Shortly after I reached the gates and had a laugh when one of the guards tried to shake me down for a visitor’s tax. Really now, he sounded like a young boy barely old enough to grow his first beard trying to sound confident and intimidating. His fellow gate guard was snickering quietly behind his helmet as the idiot hastened over to unlock the gate.

That did make me wonder, though. If the gate was locked, did that mean there were other guards stationed inside also with keys? Did you always have to wait for the gate to be unlocked first? Or maybe he just saw me coming and decided I was a stranger, and therefore ripe for the picking.

On my way to the inn I overheard a man and woman speaking of the Thieves Guild and Maven Black-Briar, and was then stopped by a brutish man warning me to watch myself and not do anything to cross Maven. He was willing to dish some gossip, and since I’ve had two assassins come at me already I asked about them. What he had to say was a rumor of some kid who used to live at the orphanage in town. Said child supposedly would or had performed the Black Sacrament against his erstwhile caretaker. I was almost afraid to go to the orphanage to find out why a child would go to such extremes.

He also talked about the Thieves Guild, mainly just to give me a name—Brynjolf—should I be interested in getting in on the action. I was iffy on that, really. I’m not in the habit of theft (looting, yes) and if I wanted to steal I couldn’t see why I would need to be part of a guild to do so, especially one that’s, according to this guy, down on its luck. And, Maven Black-Briar was very important in town and had connections to both the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood. This fellow (he said his name was Maul) worked for her, and part of his duties were to scope out any strangers and make sure they knew where not to err.

Maven was at the Bee and Barb. I could tell it was her by the way she angled her face. It was like all she could smell was excrement, or that it was some requirement to be able to look down on others, no matter how silly it made one look trying to find the right pose to do so. At any rate, the Bee and Barb had a lot of patrons, but they were all strangely quiet.

There was a real looker of a red-haired Nord male dressed in finery, an Argonian proprietor and Argonian helper, an Imperial mage who offered to be my traveling companion for hire (perhaps—I would have to think about it), and a number of others present. Most of them seemed upset, angry, sad, or a bit desperate. Riften wasn’t a nice place, I guessed, and I’d be sleeping with one eye open.

The only person who didn’t seem all doom and gloom was a Priest of Mara. I gave him a donation for the temple and kind of wished I hadn’t parted ways with Erandur so quickly. I expect he would have liked to come here, if only for the temple.

I rented a room from the innkeeper and headed upstairs to my room.

###### Heartfire, 15th, 4E 201

I had barely gotten downstairs when that redhead from before sidled up to me and said quietly, “Never done an honest day’s work in your life for all that coin you’re carrying, eh, lass?”

I snorted and said, “Brynjolf, is it?” He declined to confirm or deny and I decided to play along for the time being. “And how could you possibly ‘know’ that?”

“It’s all about sizing up your mark, lass. The way they walk, what they’re wearing. It’s a dead giveaway. And you were wise to the little side business the gate guards like to try.”

“You’re not giving me much confidence in the general level of intelligence of people around here or who visit,” I pointed out. “Just what did you have in mind?”

“I’ve got a bit of an errand to perform, but I need an extra pair of hands. And in my line of work, extra hands are well-paid.”

“Uh huh. And what would those extra hands need to do?”

“Simple. I’ll cause a distraction, and you’d steal a ring from the strongbox of a specific market stand. Then, you’d plant it on the mark.”

‘Definitely Brynjolf,’ I thought, then said, “Ah, no. I have yet to steal anything and I hadn’t planned on starting. Sorry, friend.”

“I usually have a nose for this kind of thing,” he muttered. “Never mind then, lass. If you change your mind, come find me.” He took a different door than I had used coming in the night before, but from what I remembered of the town it should probably open out onto the marketplace.

I followed him so I could poke around the shops and stalls, then left town. I looped around east (I found it odd that one of the town gates was blocked off) and checked out the road back there, practicing my skills against the local hostile wildlife and enjoying the scenery.

As I came upon a bridge I heard snarling and a man crying out, “I’ll see you burn!” Then a death gurgle. When I jumped over the side I saw a dead farmer and three wolves. Poor fellow didn’t stand a chance.

I eventually realized I had gotten my directions mixed up when I emerged from some trees to find myself staring at the hot springs area south of Windhelm. M’aiq the Liar was there, watching the mammoths cavorting in the warm water. I found the sight pretty amusing, actually.

It was late by the time I made it to Windhelm. Other than the mammoths in the hot springs nothing much interesting happened on the way. Just the usual wolves, bears, sabre cats, and the like. Well, there was one elk being controlled by a spriggan, but the spriggan itself didn’t show, so I went on my way.

I did see a peak along the way that made me wonder if there might be a wall up there, because others had been in similar places, but the only path I saw led to a cave or mine, so I went back down and continued on.

###### Heartfire, 16th, 4E 201

It probably wasn’t the best time to switch to using ice spells, but. . . . I remembered I had a tome that would teach me to summon an ancient lich, and while the casting cost was pretty high I decided to try it out. Summoning flame atronachs just wasn’t teaching me well enough.

I passed some Vigilants of Stendarr while meandering along and overheard them talking about vampires (big surprise) and also about some place called Dimhollow Crypt (probably enough to keep the kiddies away with a name like that). They were certain the vampires were up to more no good than usual and were planning to head there.

As I kept on I realized I might benefit from some Conjuration training when I was next at the College. I bypassed it because I’d only just left there, but it was something to consider for when I got back to it. Something very important impressed itself upon me as I walked. Conjuring an ancient lich up north on a bright day is a recipe for a game of hide and seek, because the damn thing was kind of ethereal and I usually couldn’t even tell where it was it blended in so well!

Since I was near Dawnstar I stopped in to deliver a note I’d picked up from a lady at Anga’s Mill. The Jarl was pleased to receive it, and told me he wished he could conscript the lot of them into the Stormcloak ranks. Yeah, sure, because he’s so high up in the ranks and has that power, right. He told me to piss off again once he was done with that pronouncement.

I decided to spend the night in town.


	8. 2.1 The Tyranny of the Sun

08042015

## 2.1

###### Awakening  
Heartfire, 17th, 4E 201

I was going to continue on west and loop around Skyrim, but I remembered those Vigilants of Stendarr, so I asked the innkeeper about them. He gave me directions to their hall. Even before I arrived I could see the flames.

The place was half destroyed, fires still burning. . . . There were dead vampires, their hounds, and a few Vigilants. I did a bit of poking around and found a marked-up map on one showing where Dimhollow Crypt was, so I marked it on my own map.

I wouldn’t claim to like the Vigilants. They would as soon kill me as speak if they actually realized I was a vampire. Their hall might be gutted, but I knew there were plenty of them out there still alive, roaming Skyrim, and macing vampires and Daedra worshipers with extreme prejudice. This setback was hardly their end.

I left the remains and tried finding the way to the crypt. As it turned out the map was a bit deceptive. Dimhollow Crypt was practically right behind the hall, up a path off to the side and around up the mountain there. Why so close? It seemed like it was so much farther away on the map.

Inside I heard two vampires speaking, one male, one female. Seems those Vigilants had come, or at least one of them. He apparently took out two vampires before he was overcome. They spoke of Lokil (who was obviously much farther inside the place) and Harkon (back at some castle). I doubted very much I could sneak past them, so. . . .

‘Note to self: stop being such a moron as to forget that my fellow vampires are resistant to frost, and an ice-casting lich is a bad idea,’ I thought, quickly switching to fire and a flame atronach.

Once they were out of the way I found the chain to open the bars blocking the way onward. I found a lot of graves in the Nord style, though I had only seen this type before while outside. Then again, it gave rise to understanding why the place was called a crypt, even though it shared nothing of the usual style of a barrow. But deeper, past a huge gate and through a door, the architecture changed quite a bit. There were gargoyle statues, coffins. . . .

Another Vigilant was there, having either penetrated so deep on his own or having been dragged there—I couldn’t tell. He was knocked around a bit by two vampires and killed. I sneaked out onto the balcony adjoining the room and peered down through the balustrades. I saw a kind of courtyard, except it was difficult to define it as one while in a massive cavern. The male vampire, Lokil, was there. The female—I had no idea what her name might be. There was a third with them that I suspected was a thrall, mainly because he never spoke and just followed behind them.

There were stairs leading down, and a bridge of sorts leading over to a large circular platform ringed with arches. At the center was some kind of pedestal. The two vampires spoke of Harkon, and two others, presumably at the same castle. Part of what I was hearing sounded like jockeying for position under a ruler’s gaze.

I made my way down to their level as quietly as I could, and then attacked with fire and an atronach. Once they were gone I was able to investigate properly. The floor under the pedestal had a five-sided design. The platform itself had grooves radiating out from the central design, and rings of grooves bisecting those. There were also receptacles of some kind, or braziers, stopped at points of intersection.

Moving them did nothing (I made the mistake of leaning against one of them and fell over when it shifted position to the next intersection up the spoke) that I could discern, so the only thing of interest that remained was that pedestal. When I went to touch it a spike slammed upward through my hand. It really hurt, damn it!

While I was checking and healing the wound a strange purple light sprang up along the first circle, but in one place it reached along a spoke to one of the braziers, and the braziers were then filled with glowing blue embers. Perhaps now they would do something if moved? I examined the situation carefully before trying anything. The line led from the one brazier to another intersection so I pushed the brazier on that line to that spot.

The line moved, showing me the next intersection of interest, and I nodded, then quickly started pushing things into place. The moment the last one slid into place the platform shook and called my attention back to the center.

That five-sided design on the floor split apart and the floor moved, sinking down in stages like an amphitheatre. The smaller design in the very center rose up like a pillar, still with that pedestal on top. There must be a point, a reason. Could it be opened? I took a deep breath and started checking the sides. One of them was different so I tried prying at the edge. It swung open like a door and inside—inside was a woman, a Nord vampire.

She woke up, disoriented. “Unh. . . . Where is—who sent you here?”

“I sent myself, actually,” I replied, “after hearing some Vigilants of Stendarr speak of this place. Who were you expecting?”

She sagged against one of the sides, then straightened up. “I was expecting someone from my family. I don’t recognize you. Are you one of my father’s little acolytes?”

I arched a brow at her. “I am no one’s ‘little acolyte’, and I haven’t the least clue who your father might be.”

“My father is a very powerful man. Or he was at one point. I’m surprised another vampire hasn’t heard of him.”

I shrugged. “Sorry, I haven’t. I’m not from Skyrim anyway. Don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me why you were locked away like this? Because there were vampires and Vigilants all after this place. The only names I overheard were, uh, Jeron, Bresoth, Lokil, Vingalmo, Orthjolf, and Harkon—before they attempted to kill me, that is.”

She gave herself away with her reaction, but to her credit she blanked out her expression fairly quickly. “That’s . . . complicated. And I’m not totally sure if I can trust you. But if you want to know the whole story, help me get back to my family’s home.”

I shrugged again. “I don’t see a reason to not help. You look like you could use a friend right now. Where is it you need to go?”

“. . .My family used to live on an island west of Solitude. I would guess they still do. By the way . . . my name is Serana. Good to meet you.”

I smiled. “Yvara. Likewise. Well, I came in from over there, so I suppose we can try going that way over there instead. If it’s not another way out we can always backtrack.”

“All right.”

I started to walk to the opposite side of the platform from where I’d crossed over and said, “I suppose I should not be asking about that massive scroll on your back, then?”

“Yeah. It’s complicated. I can’t really talk about it. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Is it fragile, though? Do we need to take care it won’t be damaged?”

Serana laughed softly. “Nothing can destroy an Elder Scroll. Worry more about protecting your hide, and let me worry about my things.”

“Fair enough,” I said as I started up some steps. There were more gargoyle statues on that side. “Do you have any idea how long you were entombed?”

“Good question. Hard to say. I—I can’t really tell. I feel like it was a long time. Who is Skyrim’s High King?”

“Ha, that’s a matter for debate. There’s a civil war going on right now and some think it should be Jarl Elisif of Solitude, while others think it should be Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm. Elisif was married to the High King, but he was killed by Ulfric. To complicate things, Elisif is firmly on the side of the Empire while Ulfric fights to make Skyrim independent from it.”

Serana stopped for a moment. “Empire? What—what empire?”

“Oh dear. Cyrodiil.”

“Cyrodiil is the seat an an empire? I must have been gone longer than I thought. Definitely longer than we planned. Please, let’s hurry. I need to get home so I can figure out what’s happened.”

“I’m not even going to ask _why_ you were entombed, so instead I’ll ask if there’s anything more I should know about your home.”

“It’s on an island near Solitude,” she repeated, then added, “Hopefully we can find a boat to take us there. Not the most welcoming place, but depending on who’s around, I’ll be safe there.”

“Ah, do I even dare ask?”

“Let’s just say that my mother and father had a bit of a falling out. Don’t worry, I’m not in any danger or anything like that. It’ll just be more unpleasant to run into my father.”

“Oh, hang on. You must be starving. Would you like a blood potion?”

“I—yes, if you have one to spare.”

I laughed and fetched one out, and handed it to her. “We’re bound to stumble over some bandits once we’re back outside, but that should tide you over for now.”

We ended up in a massive amphitheatre with row upon row of seats, many of which were filled, with skeletons if nothing else. That sort of thing made me nervous after my experiences with other supposedly dead things, so I started taking careful shots at them, one at a time. Sure enough, more than a few got up and headed for us.

Once they were cleared out and we had crossed the room I found another word wall: Gaan—Stamina.

After that getting out was simple and uncomplicated. Outside it was snowing something fierce and I had no idea where we were. I could not recall the twists and turns well enough to judge which side of the mountain we had come out on, so I picked a direction at random, hoping to stumble over something I recognized.

There was some kind of fort up ahead, but they all looked pretty alike at a distance. After skirting the place, however, I realized that Dawnstar was to the north. I assumed that Serana would not want to overnight there, especially as she’d only just woken up, so I pushed west toward Solitude. We could cross the marshes and loop around the coast, perhaps.

We weren’t far past Morthal when we ran into two Vigilants of Stendarr; they attacked her. They died. I drained one to see if their Divine patronage altered the flavor of their blood—or maybe I was just hungry.

I was still a bit nonplussed at her not knowing of the Empire. “Serana, for what it’s worth, it’s the year 201 of the fourth era. The third era went four hundred thirty-three years and began when Tiber Septim unified the provinces of Tamriel into the Empire. So you’ve been asleep for over six hundred years. Part of the reason for the current war is because of the apotheosis of Tiber Septim as Talos. Ulfric fights because Talos worship was outlawed due to the Great War around twenty-five years ago. But I expect you’ll find a much better understanding of events in books. I’m something of an indifferent scholar when it comes to history.”

“Good to know the world didn’t get boring while I was gone,” she said wryly, then asked, “Are you an alchemist?”

“Ah, no, not yet anyway,” I said, pausing in the act of picking yet another flower cluster. “I find myself quite unable to help gathering ingredients along the way, though. And besides, my little firebug here needs his pollen.”

###### Bloodline  
Heartfire, 18th, 4E 201

Night slowly gave way to day as we got to the coast and worked our way west, fighting bears and skirting horkers, and eventually came upon a fort. I had no idea who controlled it and wasn’t in the mood to check; I sincerely doubted Serana would be interested, either. A castle loomed up in the distance, on an island in line of sight from the fort. Serana nodded and said, “That’s it, out there to the north. We used to keep a boat around here to get there and back.”

We found one at a small jetty near the fort and began the row over. She chose that time to ask about me and I said, “I’m a mage from the College of Winterhold. I have a room there, but I also have a home outside Whiterun. I find the place convenient because it’s so close to a lot of merchants and it’s far warmer than the College environs.”

When we docked I said, a bit teasingly, I admit, “So this is your home?” The place was massive.

She looked almost embarrassed by the question. “I didn't want you to think I was one of those . . . you know, the women who just sit in their castle all day? I don’t know. Coming from a place like this, well . . . it’s not really me. I hope you can believe that.”

I shrugged. “You’ve given me no reason to believe you’d lie to me.”

A few steps later she said, “Hey, so . . . before we go in here. . . .”

I paused and looked at her directly; something of her expression made me ask if she was all right.

“I think so. And thanks for asking. I wanted to thank you for getting me this far. But after we get in there, I’m going to go my own way for a while. I think—there’s a lot I need to think about and figure out. Once we’re inside, just keep quiet for a bit. Let me take the lead.”

“That’s understandable,” I assured her. “And you’re welcome. The landscape may or may not have changed much, but having a friendly face along the way probably helped. I just wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

She seemed relieved by that response, that I wasn’t offended or something. “What do you think you’ll do after?” she asked, head tilted to one side.

“More of the same,” I said. “I’ve been working on advancing my magic, so I’ll keep making the rounds, stopping in at the College and my house outside Whiterun, trying to improve my skills, be a better mage. This was kind of on my way anyway. Well, not quite this far north, but I’d have gone by Solitude anyway, then south and around.”

Serana nodded and started walking again, barely pausing when someone behind the gates yelled, “Lady Serana’s back! Open the gate!”

Inside we were confronted by an angry man. “How dare you trespass here! Wait—Serana? Is that truly you? I cannot believe my eyes! My lord! Everyone! Serana has returned!”

He rushed off from the entry hall and Serana said wryly, “I guess I’m expected.”

I let her take the lead as requested and followed her forward, then down one side of the stairs. An extremely handsome man was standing part way down the center of the room. There were long tables to either side with various vampires seated there, eating. The place was disgusting. Blood was splattered everywhere, various bloody body parts. They lived like pigs.

“I can’t believe it,” the man said, “My long-lost daughter returns at last. I trust you have my Elder Scroll?”

“After all these years, that’s the first thing you ask me? Yes, I have the scroll.”

“Of course I’m delighted to see you, my daughter. Must I really say the words aloud? Ah, if only your traitor mother were here, I would let her watch this reunion before putting her head on a spike. Now tell me, who is this stranger you have brought into our hall?”

Serana glanced back for a bare second before saying, “This is my savior, the one who freed me.”

“For my daughter’s safe return, you have my gratitude. Tell me, what is your name?”

‘Maybe you should tell me yours first,’ I thought, ‘except I’m pretty sure it’s Harkon.’ “I am Yvara.”

“I am Harkon,” he replied, “lord of this court. By now, my daughter will have told you what we are.”

‘Well, no, I could tell that for myself,’ I thought. ‘Or is there something I’m missing?’ “You’re vampires,” I said slowly, realizing that Serana had turned her head away and was staring off at one of the walls.

“Not just vampires. We are among the oldest and most powerful vampires in Skyrim. For centuries we lived here, far from the cares of the world. All that ended when my wife betrayed me and stole away that which I valued most.”

‘And I’m thinking from what you’ve already said—or not said—that it’s not Serana.’ I nodded, unsure if I was supposed to be nosy and ask for further details. “Well,” I began, intending to make polite noises about leaving.

But that was enough to get him going again. “You have done me a great service, and now you must be rewarded. There is but one gift I can give that is equal in value to the Elder Scroll and my daughter. I offer you my blood. Take it, and you will walk as a lion among sheep. Men will tremble at your approach, and you will never fear death again.”

I didn’t much fear it to begin with. I wasn’t some Nord who thought fleeing a bad situation was cowardly. I called it smart. “And if I refuse your gift?” I had to know. Serana still had her face averted.

“Then you will be prey, like all mortals. I will spare your life this once, but you will be banished from this hall.”

Oh, like that would be a chore. Again, they lived like pigs.

“Perhaps you still need convincing? Behold the power!”

He transformed then, into something I would never willingly choose to be. He was more monstrous in appearance than anything.

“This is the power that I offer! Now, make your choice!”

Let me think. Being able to hover, be ugly, and have crappy little wings, or stay myself? How could I possibly decide. “I am honored by the offer of your gift, but I must decline. I am happy as I am.”

“So be it!” he said, and Serana walked away at that point. “You are prey, like all mortals. I banish you!”

I came to back outside, near the boat. My vision was blurry for some time, but eventually I was able to see clearly and row back.

###### Prophet  
Heartfire, 24th, 4E 201

I strolled on up to Elysium, intent on relaxing and unloading some goods, enjoying that wonderful bathing pool, but I stopped dead when I saw Serana perched on the stone wall outside, idly kicking one of her heels against it.

“You probably weren’t expecting to see me,” she said.

True, I was surprised. “I wasn’t, but that’s fine. Would you like to come in? Though—” I glanced over at the shrine. “I need to warn you that the property is under Kynareth’s eye. I inherited the place, so to speak, because she found me worthy to have it. The journal the caretaker left behind said ‘the unworthy’ would be kept out. I admit I was really shocked when I was accepted. I guess she doesn’t have a problem with vampires?” I shrugged. “But with that in mind, you’re more than welcome to come in and we can talk where every passerby can’t overhear.”

She nodded and followed me in, hesitating slightly at the door. But it was fine. I fetched out some blood potions and offered her one, then took a seat near the fireplace, waving to the other chair. “So what’s up?”

She uncorked her potion and took a sip, nodding. “It’s—well, it’s about me. And the Elder Scroll that was buried with me.”

The Elder Scroll was a touchy subject so I asked, “What about you? Is something wrong?”

“The reason I was down there . . . and why I had the Elder Scroll. It all comes back to my father. I’m guessing you figured this part out already, but my father’s not exactly a good person. Even by vampire standards. He wasn’t always like that, though. There was . . . a turn. He stumbled onto this obscure prophecy and just kind of lost himself in it.”

“Prophecy?” I muttered. “What do you mean by ‘lost himself’?”

“He just became absorbed . . . obsessed. It was kind of sick, actually. The prophecy said that vampires would no longer need to fear the sun. For someone who fancied himself as vampire royalty, that’s pretty seductive. Anyway, my mother and I didn’t feel like inviting a war with all of Tamriel, so we tried to stop him. That’s why I was sealed away with the Elder Scroll.”

Elder Scrolls were serious business, even I knew that. I frowned lightly and had some blood. “You want to stop him. Though I have to wonder what’s meant by not fearing the sun. I don’t much love it myself, but I’ve also never found it to be that much of a bother.”

“I’m not sure he knows the exact wording,” she said. “He knows enough to be obsessed about it, though. If I knew what the Elder Scroll said I might know how to counter him. The problem is that reading an Elder Scroll is no simple prospect.”

“Moth Priests.”

“Exactly. They spend years preparing before they start reading, though. Not that it helps us, anyway, because they’re half a continent away in Cyrodiil.”

“Well, we could ask around, see if there are any in Skyrim. It’s a long shot, though. I suppose we could go ask Urag in the Arcanaeum. Even if he doesn’t personally know, he might have some ideas.”

Serana nodded. “That’s what I was thinking, and I remembered that you were part of the College, so. . . .”

“Sure. We can go there. Uh, we can leave any time after I’ve had a soak, at least. Let me show you around. If you want to take a soak yourself you can do that, and there are plenty of beds if you feel like napping. There are also blood potions stored in the kitchen.” I got up and pointed at the ladder to the loft. “There’s a private area up there, also.” Then I showed her the other bedroom and its pool. “Give me an hour and I’ll be ready.”

We made very good time to Winterhold and headed up to the College. Tolfdir wandered by saying he was pleased to see me, and called me Arch-Mage. Serana raised a brow at me and I smiled a bit sheepishly, then continued on to my quarters. “Uh, yeah, I may have forgotten to mention that part. I didn’t say anything because it can give the wrong impression, kind of like the castle, you know? I’ll tell you the story later.”

I grabbed a few things and went to the Arcanaeum to see what Urag could tell us. He was able to tell us that a Moth Priest had actually been there researching something and left after saying something about Dragon Bridge.

On the way out I ran into Faralda and told her I was kind of in the middle of something and wouldn’t be able to stay this time, then hurried off with Serana in tow. One of the guards in town called me Thane, which had Serana eyeing me again. “It’s hilarious, actually,” I told her. “The people here loathe mages and magic. I don’t think Jarl Korir even realizes I am one. All I did was a few favors for people in town and one for him and I ended up with a fancy title. No coin, power, or anything else.” I shrugged.

Along the way to Dragon Bridge I ran across that damn noble couple again, still trying to find Solitude. “They must have the absolute worst sense of direction in history,” I murmured to Serana. “This is at least the third time I’ve run across them and they’re always on the wrong side of the country or heading in the wrong direction. Never any horses, or a guide. I’m honestly surprised they haven’t been robbed and killed yet.”

“Just out of curiosity, have you tried giving them directions?”

“Every time I got too close the man would warn me off. You know, because we commoners aren’t good enough to be in the presence of nobles.” I rolled my eyes.

The only other point of interest along the way was another would-be thief, this one an Argonian dressed in Imperial armor, Thalmor boots, and some kind of hood. Because that’s not suspicious at all, and so very intimidating.

We got to Dragon Bridge around midnight and I asked the first guard I saw patrolling about the Moth Priest. He pointed us south across the bridge, said the priest and his escort had left only a short while ago.

###### Heartfire, 25th, 4E 201

They were ambushed not far from the intersection. A dead Imperial and a vampire were there, so I searched the vampire for anything of interest and found a note. I could already see a trail of blood leading away (which made me wonder a number of things) and the note confirmed what had happened.

The blood trail led off to a cave not far away. They weren’t even trying to be subtle. Inside was more of the usual—ruins inside a fairly large cave, but all the one “room”. In any case, across the river was a ward of some kind that reminded me of the one originally around the Eye of Magnus under Saarthal. We picked our way over, through hounds and thralls, and found several vampires trying to work the priest over, to control his mind, thrall him, I suppose. That begged the question: was Harkon not yet aware that Serana had disappeared with the Elder Scroll?

“The more you fight me, the more you will suffer, mortal,” one of the vampires was saying as we crept closer.

“I will resist you, monster. I must!”

“How much longer can you keep this up, Moth Priest? Your mind was strong, but you’re exhausted from the struggle.”

“Must . . . resist. . . .”

“Yes, I can feel your defenses crumbling. You want it to end. You want to give in to me. Now, acknowledge me as your master!”

“Yes, master.”

We finally got close enough to rush in with spells flying and summons helping. I searched them and found some kind of crystal, among other things, then tried to find a way to free the priest. Up a set of stairs was the focus of the barrier and the crystal was the right shape to slot into a depression there. Doing so caused the barrier to fall.

But the priest had been subverted and immediately attacked. Serana and I beat the stuffing out of him until he yielded, which apparently can cause brainwashing to fail. “Wait, stop! I yield! That—that wasn’t me you were fighting. I could see through my eyes, but I could not control my actions. Thank you for breaking that foul vampire’s hold over me.”

“So, you’re all right now?”

“I’m quite all right, thanks to you. Dexion Evicus is my name. I’m a Moth Priest of the White Gold Tower. These vampires claimed they had some purpose in store for me, but they wouldn’t say what. Probably holding me for ransom, the fools.”

“Ah, no. They wanted you because they need someone to read an Elder Scroll. What they don’t know is that they no longer have it; we do.”

“You have an Elder Scroll? Remarkable! But—you two are vampires, as well?”

“Yes, we are. Fortunately for you, we are vampires of the non-evil sort. I’m actually a little surprised you noticed. Most people just see my eyes and think they’re a bit odd, not that I’m a vampire.”

“They don’t notice the fangs?” he asked skeptically.

I shook my head. “It’s weird. Maybe they just can’t believe someone who acts so normal could possibly be a vampire. But then, I’ve seen a lot of really strange things in Skyrim, so, who knows?”

“I see. So, you rescued me so I could read the Elder Scroll for you instead?” he asked.

“It’d be awfully nice of you if you did. We’re trying to stop someone who’s a bit unhinged. If you’re willing I’d like you to come back to the College of Winterhold. I can assure you of a room to sleep in and there’s plenty of people there to talk to, and protect you should more vampires come after you.”

“I’ll hurry on my way there before more of those vampires show up.”

I blinked, looked at Serana incredulously, and said, “Ah, I’m not letting you run off alone. You had two guards with you and they were slaughtered like livestock. No, no, I’ll put you on my horse. We can do any fighting necessary. My horse is a damn coward so he’ll keep you away from any of it.”

###### Heartfire, 27th, 4E 201

We got back to the College a bit after midnight. Dexion didn’t seem to have too much trouble dozing along the way and Horse kept him out of trouble whenever hostiles popped up. I showed him to my old room and got him settled, finding a few odds and ends for him. It’s not as though he had much to his name at that point, though we had gone back to the wagon to get whatever he wanted from it.

He showed up in the Arch-Mage’s quarters after he’d rested, escorted by Tolfdir, and announced, “I am ready to find out what secrets the scroll can tell.”

“If you’re sure,” I said.

Serana removed the scroll from her back and offered it to him.

“Now, if everyone will please be quiet, I must concentrate,” he said, then opened it. “I see a vision before me, an image of a great bow. I know this weapon! It is Auriel’s Bow! Now a voice whispers, saying, ‘Among the night’s children, a dread lord will arise. In an age of strife, darkness will mingle with light and the night and day will be as one.’ The voice fades and the words begin to shimmer and distort. But wait, there is more here. The secret of the bow’s power is written elsewhere. I think there is more to the prophecy, recorded in other scrolls. Yes, I see them now. One contains the ancient secrets of the dragons, and the other speaks of the potency of ancient blood. My vision darkens, and I see no more. To know the complete prophecy, we must have the other two scrolls. I must rest now. The reading has made me weary.”

Tolfdir immediately stepped up and escorted him away, presumably back to the bed I’d lent Dexion.


	9. 2.2 The Tyranny of the Sun

08042015

## 2.2

###### Chasing Echoes  
Heartfire, 27th, 4E 201

“Do you have a moment to talk?” Serana asked.

Had I been male I might have cringed away. Those are not usually words a person likes to hear. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

“Dexion said we needed two other Elder Scrolls. I think I know where we can start looking.”

“All right, though I never expected that we’d need more than the one you already have. I guess you didn’t say anything earlier for the same reason.”

“That and there was no point in saying anything where my father could have overheard. He’s obsessed with the prophecy, and from what I can tell, a thousand extra years of obsession haven’t made him any better. We should have found him a hobby.”

I snorted in amusement. “Do you—do you think he even cares about you anymore?” I asked tentatively.

“You know, I’ve asked myself the same thing. I thought—I hoped that if he saw me, he might feel something again. But I guess I don’t really factor in at this point. I don’t think he even sees me as his daughter anymore. I’m just . . . a means to an end.”

I honestly wasn’t sure what I could say to that. I bit my lip, then changed the subject. “Well, where is this Elder Scroll?”

“We need to find my mother, Valerica. She’ll definitely know where it is, and if we’re lucky, she actually has it herself.”

“But you aren’t sure where she went,” I said slowly.

Serana shook her head. “The last time I saw her, she said that she’d go somewhere safe, somewhere that my father would never search. Other than that, she wouldn’t tell me anything. But the way she said it. . . . It was cryptic, yet she called attention to it.”

“It kind of sounds like she was being cautious. After all, I overheard some Vigilants talking about Dimhollow Crypt and poked my nose in, and found you. If I could do that, maybe anyone could. With you not knowing where she went, you certainly can’t tell anyone, or have it tricked out of you.”

“Maybe. What I can’t figure out is why she said it that way. Besides, I can’t imagine a single place my father would avoid looking. And he’s had all this time, too. Any ideas?”

“Uh, somewhere in the castle itself?” I offered with a shrug, grabbing a blood potion off the table and taking a swig.

Serana frowned and started to shake her head, then stopped. “Wait, that almost makes sense! There’s a courtyard in the castle. I used to help her tend a garden there. All the ingredients for our potions came from there. She used to say that my father couldn’t stand the place. Too . . . peaceful.”

“I imagine it’d be pretty risky, staying there somewhere, but. . . .”

“Oh, absolutely. But my mother’s not a coward. That is . . . I don’t think we’ll actually trip over her there, but it’s worth a look. There’s an unused inlet on the northern side of the island that was used by the previous owners to bring supplies to the castle. An old escape tunnel from the castle exits there. I think that’s our way in.”

“Sounds like a plan, then.”

###### Heartfire, 28th, 4E 201

We arrived at the castle’s excuse for a dock and Serana pointed off to the left. “We go that way, around the side.”

So we did, and eventually came around to a dock area with a way inside, though we did have to shatter a few skeletons first. Inside she said, “The old water cistern. On some days, the smell would just—be glad you weren’t here then. Take a left up ahead. This is one of those weird double-barred security measures that my father put in when he got more paranoid. If we follow that path around we can find the other switch.”

I headed left through the archway, fried a skeleton, and followed the way around and through the bottom of the cistern. It was watery and full of piles and piles of bones. Up some stairs and through another door was a room choked with cobwebs and a spider, which we killed. I flipped the switch and we backtracked to the entrance. Another switch, in tandem with the first, caused a bridge to fall down and let us continue.

“This leads out to the courtyard,” Serana said after a bit. “Just out this door.” Outside her expression fell. “Oh no. What happened to this place?” She darted forward, then stopped and looked around.

“Everything’s been torn down. The whole place looks, well, dead. It’s like we’re the first to set foot here in centuries.” She wandered off and I followed her, just listening. “This used to lead into the castle’s great hall. It looks like my father had it sealed up. I used to walk through here after evening meals. It was beautiful, once.

“This was my mother’s garden. It—do you know how beautiful something can be when it’s tended by a master for hundreds of years? She would have hated to see it like this. Wait—something’s wrong with the moondial here. Some of the crests are missing and the dial is askew. I didn’t even know the crests could be removed. Maybe my mother’s trying to tell us something?”

I began to wander around, looking for crests that might fit into place, and asked, “So what do you think happened here?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say the moment mother fled the castle, father went on a rampage. Knowing him, anything at all that reminded him of her was just destroyed.”

“Then he walled it off,” I said, bending down to pick up a crest similar to the ones on the moondial.

“It appears that way. I suppose he wanted to put the past behind him. Perhaps if he had spent more time with us, he would have recognized the beauty for himself.”

I found another crest and asked, “Is the moondial particularly special?”

“Well, as far as I’m aware it’s the only one in existence. The previous owners of the castle had a sundial in the courtyard, and obviously, that didn’t appeal to my mother. She persuaded an elven artisan to make some improvements. You can see the plates that show the phases of the moons, Masser and Secunda.”

“How many crests are missing? And does it function?”

“Three, I think,” she said. “And that’s the thing—what’s the point of a moondial? I always wondered why she didn’t just have the whole thing ripped out. But she loved it. I don’t know. I guess it’s like having a piece of art, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

“I think it’s lovely, but I can’t quite see how it would work, not with so many walls around it,” I replied. “Ah, I found a third one. Let’s see if we can make these fit.”

Serana knew more about how it should look than I so she took each crest and slipped them into place. As soon as all three were in place the dial rotated, causing us both to step back hurriedly, and a staircase was revealed.

“Very clever, mother. Very clever. I bet this leads to a way that runs right under the courtyard and into the tower ruins. Well, at least we’re getting closer. Let’s go.”

After a very confusing journey involving secret passageways, skeletons, and gargoyles, we finally reached a large room that looked to be in reasonable shape, though still abandoned.

“Look at this place,” Serana said. “This has to be it! I knew she was deep into necromancy. I mean, she taught me everything I know. But I had no idea she had a setup like this. Look at all this. She must have spent years collecting these components. And what’s this thing?”

I had been wondering that myself. There was a circular indentation as the most prominent thing in the room, taking up a fair amount of space, and it had a number of concentric circles.

“I’m not sure about this circle, but it’s obviously—something. Let’s take a look around. There has to be something here that tells us where she’s gone.”

Serana went one way and I went the other. Eventually I came across a journal on one of the bookcases and flipped through it. It seemed to be Valerica’s personal journal, so I brought it straight to Serana. “What about this?”

“You’ve found her journal! Let me take a look at it.”

“I only skimmed it, but what’s this ‘Soul Cairn’ thing she mentions?”

“I only know what she told me. She had a theory about soul gems. That the souls inside of them don’t just vanish when they’re used. They end up in the Soul Cairn.”

“That’s actually an interesting line of thought, now that I think about it. I’ve used plenty of soul gems, but I never stopped to think about what happens to the souls once they’re used. Huh. So the Soul Cairn would be like a type of afterlife?”

She looked up from the journal and said, “The Soul Cairn is home to very powerful beings. Necromancers send them souls, and receive powers of their own in return. My mother spent a lot of time trying to contact them directly, to travel to the Soul Cairn itself.”

“Well, if she made it there, we’ll find her,” I said, sounding a lot more confident than I felt.

“That circle in the center of the room is definitely some type of portal. If I’m reading this right, there’s a formula in here that should give us safe passage into the Soul Cairn.”

“All right. What does she say we need?”

“A handful of soul gem shards, some finely-ground bone meal, a good bit of purified void salts—oh, damn it.”

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re also going to need a sample of her blood. Which, if we could get that, we wouldn’t even be trying to do this in the first place.”

I shook my head. “We do have one. You’re her daughter. You share her blood.”

Serana smiled. “Hm. Not bad. We’d better hope that’s good enough. Mistakes with these kinds of portals can be . . . gruesome. Anyway, enough of that. Let’s get started.”

This time it was Serana who found two of the items we needed, while I found the other one. It was awfully tempting to tuck some of this stuff away, but that would be stealing from a woman who might well come back at some point. We headed up to the device overlooking the portal and Serana put everything in. “Then the rest is up to me. Are you ready to go? I’m not entirely sure what this thing is going to do when I add my blood.”

“May I ask something first?”

“Of course. What is it?”

“. . .What will you do if we find your mother?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same thing since we came back to the castle. She was so sure of what we did to my father, I couldn’t help but go along with her. I never thought of the cost.”

“I’d like to think she did it for your sake.”

“Possibly. I guess even a vampire mother is still a mother. She worried about me. About all of us. But she wanted to get me as far away from my father as possible before he really went over the edge.”

“Well, I guess we won’t know until we find her,” I said softly.

“Yes. Yes, you’re right. I just didn’t expect anyone to care how I felt about her. Thank you. Are we ready, then?”

“Let’s get that portal open.”

Serana bit into her hand to make it bleed and said, “All right. Here goes.” She started dripping blood into the mixture, and stopped when the portal began to open.

###### Beyond Death  
Heartfire, 28th, 4E 201

The Soul Cairn was a place of bizarre beauty, but also desolate and full of despair. Lightning cracked overhead every so often. Plant life was negligible and the buildings were all of dark stone, smooth, and some doorways were barred off. Everything was in shades of blue or black or purple, except for some odd little circular pits that were a combination of colours. Great fissures existed here and there, leaking some kind of mist, and I could see spectral forms every so often.

The first building I saw had glowing circular panels to either side of a barred off doorway and, out of curiosity, I threw a spell at one of the panels. It dimmed and half the bars slid down. I hit the other one and opened the way to a chest. In front of it on the floor was a sheet of parchment, like an excerpt from some book. I didn’t have a problem looting in the Soul Cairn, so I took anything that looked interesting.

We looked everywhere, and in the process ended up with a whole lot of soul gems, found out that the fissures could be used to fill them, found places to transform regular soul gems into black soul gems, ten of those pages, and the skeletal skull of a horse. The horse’s owner was overjoyed (they had both been soul trapped at some point, obviously) and taught me how to summon his friend. We also found the owner of the pages. St Jiub, who had some time ago wiped out the cliff racers of Morrowind, and presented us with a bound copy of the first volume of his work.

We also found spell tomes for summoning some of the hostiles of the place. Those were strange. They crawled out of the ground when you got close enough, and turned into puddles of black goo when defeated; they also left behind soul gems. Truly, I found it odd that so many soul gems could be found. The souls themselves were mostly depressed or frightened, though some refused to talk at all.

But eventually, Serana and I came to the base of a large hill with a massive building atop it and a strange glow—stranger than the other glows visible, anyway. There were other buildings of interest, some of which had huge ovoid “gems” above them, but we decided to go up the hill. I could see once we got higher that only part of the building up ahead had that glow, like only part of it was behind a barrier. We approached and saw someone behind it.

“Mother!” Serana called.

I edged off to the side a bit, not wanting to intrude.

The woman, dressed much like Serana was, came to the barrier’s edge. “Maker . . . it can’t be. Serana!?”

“Is it really you? I can’t believe it! How do we get inside? We have to talk.”

“Serana? What are you doing here? Where’s your father?”

“He doesn’t know we’re here. I don’t have time to explain.”

“I must have failed,” Valerica said. “Harkon’s found a way to decipher the prophecy, hasn’t he.”

“No, you’ve got it all wrong. We’re here to complete the prophecy our way, not his,” Serana insisted.

“Wait a moment,” Valerica said, finally seeming to take in that Serana wasn’t alone. “You’ve brought a stranger here? Have you lost your mind?”

“No, you don’t—”

“You,” Valerica interrupted. “Come forward. I would speak with you.”

I frowned at her manner and stepped back over, and closer to the barrier and Valerica.

“So how has it come to pass that a vampire of mixed blood is in the company of my daughter?”

“I’ve been keeping her safe and helping her,” I said evenly, hoping that if I ever reached such an age I would not be so damn arrogant and paranoid.

“Safe? You call bringing her here safe? Has she explained nothing to you?”

Did this woman think I was leading Serana around as if she was a child in need of a keeper? “Anyone could have found her. I found Serana simply by overhearing a conversation by some people who would have killed her the moment they discovered her, or hauled her back to the castle. I got curious. Both the Vigilants of Stendarr and Harkon’s people were after her in that place. I killed the vampires, mainly because they attacked me, and got her out, then did as she requested and provided an escort.”

“Serana is in far more danger now than she was before,” Valerica insisted, again without saying why. “She has sacrificed everything to prevent Harkon from completing the prophecy. I would have expected her to explain that to you.”

“Yes, well, the Elder Scroll seems to be a problem.”

“You think I’d have the audacity to place my own daughter in that tomb for the protection of her Elder Scroll alone? The scrolls are merely a means to an end. The key to the Tyranny of the Sun is Serana herself.”

“I’m glad you finally decided to give us a reason instead of parroting the same thing over and over again,” I said snidely. “If it was just the damn scroll you could have dropped it in the Sea of Ghosts.”

Valerica looked a bit taken aback. “When I fled Castle Volkihar, I fled with two Elder Scrolls. The scroll I presume you found with Serana speaks of Auriel and his arcane weapon, Auriel’s Bow. The second scroll declares that ‘The Blood of Coldharbour’s Daughter will blind the eye of the Dragon’.”

“And earlier Serana mentioned the sun, and you just did, so the dragon is the sun,” I muttered. “Harkon wants the bow to corrupt it somehow. I’m going to reason that Serana is a Daughter of Coldharbour with you saying she’s the key.”

“Like myself, Serana was a human once. We were devout followers of Lord Molag Bal. Tradition dictates the females be offered to Molag Bal on his summoning day. Few survive the ordeal. Those that do emerge as a pure-blooded vampire. We call such confluences the ‘Daughters of Coldharbour’.”

“So the ‘Tyranny of the Sun’ requires Serana’s blood—or yours.”

“Now you’re beginning to see why I wanted to protect Serana, and why I’ve kept the other Elder Scroll as far from her as possible.”

“So you’re saying Harkon means to kill her.”

“If Harkon obtained Auriel’s Bow and Serana’s blood was used to taint the weapon, the Tyranny of the Sun would be complete. In his eyes, she’d be dying for the good of all vampires.”

“Then he’s a damn fool,” I said. “Blotting out or destroying the sun probably would kill off his food source. In addition to that, the people would probably start a new war, this time against vampires specifically. In any case, I wouldn’t allow that to happen if I could possibly prevent it.”

“And how exactly do you plan on completing the prophecy without death of my daughter?”

“The obvious answer is to kill Harkon,” I stated.

“If you believe you can do that, you’re a bigger fool that I originally suspected. Don’t you think I weighed that option before I enacted my plans?”

“Sure. And Serana’s opinion on all of this?”

“You care nothing for Serana or our plight. Whether or not you’ve become a vampire in order to survive the Soul Cairn, you’re still a stranger. You see the Tyranny of the Sun as your chance at deification.”

I laughed at her. “Lady, you are nuts. I’m on this little jaunt because I like Serana and she needed help. That’s it. I live a perfectly happy life as I am. I feed myself just fine. Apotheosis is not my goal and I seriously wonder at the interpretation going on here for anyone to think that’s even a possibility. I didn’t know a thing about this ‘Tyranny of the Sun’ until you mentioned it, so stop putting words in my mouth or assigning me motivations I don’t have.”

Serana decided to jump in at that point. “This ‘stranger’ has done more for me in the brief time I’ve known her than you’ve done in centuries!”

“How dare you! I gave up everything I cared about to protect you from that fanatic you call a father!”

Serana sighed. “Yes, he’s a fanatic. He’s changed. But he’s still my father. Why can’t you understand how that makes me feel?”

“Oh, Serana. If you’d only open your eyes. The moment your father discovers your role in the prophecy, that he needs your blood, you’d be in terrible danger.”

“So to protect me, you decided to shut me away from everything I cared about?” she said passionately. “You never asked me if hiding in that tomb was the best course of action, you just expected me to follow you blindly. Both of you were obsessed with your own paths. Your motivations might have been different, but in the end, I’m still just a pawn to you, too.

“I want us to be a family again. But I don’t know if we can ever have that. Maybe we don’t deserve that kind of happiness. Maybe it isn’t for us. But we have to stop him. Before he goes too far. And to do that, we need the Elder Scroll.”

“I’m sorry, Serana,” Valerica said dolefully. “I didn’t know—I didn’t see. I’ve allowed my hatred of your father to estrange us for too long. Forgive me. If you want the Elder Scroll, it’s yours.” To me she said, “Your intentions are still somewhat unclear to me. But for Serana’s sake, I’ll assist you in any way I can.”

I nodded and glanced at the barrier. “Are you . . . trapped in there?”

“Yes. Fortunately, you’re in a position to breach the barrier that surrounds these ruins. I’ve kept the Elder Scroll safely secured here ever since I was imprisoned.”

“What do we need to do to free you?”

“You need to locate the tallest of the rocky spires that surround these ruins. At their bases, the barrier’s energy is being drawn from unfortunate souls that have been exiled here. Destroy the Keepers that are tending them, and it should bring the barrier down.”

“All right. We’ll return soon.”

“One more word of warning,” Valerica said as I started to turn away. “There’s a dragon that calls itself Durnehviir roaming the Cairn. Be wary of him. The Ideal Masters have charged him with overseeing the Keepers, and will undoubtedly intervene if you’re perceived as a threat. Be careful, and keep my daughter safe.”

I nodded and we set off, looking for the Keepers. “I—I hope this doesn’t offend you, Serana, but I kind of get the feeling your family thinks of you as a small child at times. I mean, I get it, your mother only wants you to be safe, but. . . .”

“Yeah. But let’s go kill those . . . Keeper things and get back to the prison.”

So off we went. They weren’t too difficult to locate. One even had a bunch of souls at the base very obviously feeding energy to fuel the barrier. The Keepers were difficult, on the order of a powerful Deathlord or similar. One was atop its tower, reached either by a torturous staircase or a funny little teleportation pad.

In any case, we managed it, and hastened back to Valerica. “You managed to destroy all three Keepers? Very impressive. Now, please follow me. Keep watch for Durnehviir. With the prison’s barrier down, he’s almost certain to investigate.”

As we walked I asked, “How did you come to be imprisoned here?”

“When I entered the Soul Cairn, I had intended to strike a bargain with the Ideal Masters, the custodians of this place. I requested refuge in the Soul Cairn, and in the exchange, I would provide the Ideal Masters the souls they craved. If I had foreseen the value they placed on my own soul, I would never have come here.”

“They tricked you, then.”

“Yes. They unleashed their Keepers and sent them to destroy me. Fortunately, I was able to hold them at bay and retreat into these ruins. And, since the Keepers weren’t able to claim my soul, they had their minions construct a barrier that I’d never be able to breach.”

“Hm. Who are the Ideal Masters?” I asked as she opened a door and started through.

“I know very little about them. They’re mystic entities that lord over the Soul Cairn, controlling every aspect from its fabric to its appearance. Some necromancers believe they are the crystalline structures dotting the Soul Cairn. I think they transcend what we perceive as a physical form. Perhaps they were once corporeal beings, but they’ve obviously reached a point where they no longer require a tangible presence.”

I would have continued that line of discussion, but Serana said, “Wait—I hear something!” as we passed into a large courtyard.

“It’s Durnehviir—he’s here! Defend yourselves!”

Skeletons and such began rising from the bone piles as a dragon appeared overhead. I could swear the thing was decaying in front of my eyes. I summoned my lich and started targeting the dragon. After having taken down the skeletal one at Labyrinthian I wasn’t quite as scared of this one as perhaps I should have been. Truly, with three mages capable of conjuring assistance, it wasn’t all that hard to defeat the dragon. I didn’t know if I should be pleased or wary.

“Forgive my astonishment,” Valerica said afterward, “but I never thought I’d witness the death of that dragon.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Volumes written on Durnehviir allege that he can’t be slain by normal means. It appears they were mistaken. Unless. . . . The soul of a dragon is as resilient as its owner’s scaly hide. It’s possible your killing blow merely displaced Durnehviir’s physical form while he reconstitutes himself. It could take, oh, minutes? Hours? Years? I can’t even begin to guess. I suggest we don’t wait around to find out. Now, let’s get your Elder Scroll and you can be on your way.”

Clear across the courtyard, opposite where we entered, was an alcove with an ornate box inside. Valerica gestured toward it, so I stepped forward and retrieved the scroll.

“Remember,” Valerica said as we began the walk back. “Harkon is not to be trusted. No matter what he promises, he’ll deceive you in order to get what he wants. And promise me you’ll keep my daughter safe. She’s the only thing of value I have left. Farewell.”

As we were about to pass through the door again Serana said, “I’m glad we found the scroll, but I—I wish she could come with us.”

“We just have to resolve this. Then we can come back and let her know it’s safe to return.”

We hadn’t taken many steps past the door when I realized Durnehviir was perched on an outcropping right in front of the prison. I took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“Stay your weapons. I would speak with you, Qahnaarin.”

“So you did reconstitute, as Valerica conjectured.”

“I am cursed, not dead. Doomed to exist in this form for all eternity. Trapped between laas and dinok, between life and death.

I nodded. “Why did you wish to speak?”

“I believe in civility among seasoned warriors, and I find your ear worthy of my words. My claws have rended flesh from innumerable foes, but I have never once been felled on the field of battle. I therefore honor-name you ‘Qahnaarin’, or Vanquisher in your tongue, for one who has bested a fellow dovah in battle.”

“I found you equally worthy,” I said politely. And indeed, he had not been a pushover, though not as difficult as one might expect.

“Your words do me great honor. My desire to speak with you was born from the result of our battle, Qahnaarin. I merely wish to respectfully ask a favor of you.”

I blinked. Well, if I could do them for people, why not a dragon? “What kind of favor?”

“For countless years I’ve roamed the Soul Cairn, in unintended service to the Ideal Masters. Before this, I roamed the skies above Tamriel. I desire to return there.”

I eyed the ongoing decay of his flesh, wrinkling my nose a little.

“I fear that my time here has taken its toll on me. I share a bond with this dreaded place. If I ventured far from the Soul Cairn, my strength would begin to wane until I was no more.”

“How would I be able to help, then?” I asked, shaking my head a little in confusion.

“I will place my name with you and grant you the right to call my name from Tamriel. Do me this simple honor and I will fight at your side as your grah-zeymahzin, your ally, and teach you my Thu’um.”

“Quick side track, here,” I said. “What does Bromjunaar mean?”

“Northern Kingdom, in your tongue.”

So all those words I had been finding were in the dragon tongue. “Just call your name in Tamriel? That’s it?”

“Trivial in your mind, perhaps. For me, it would mean a great deal. I don’t require an answer, Qahnaarin. Simply speak my name to the heavens when you feel the time is right.”

He did something then that reminded me of the word walls and I—I understood. Dur Neh Viir—Curse Never Dying. “You said, ‘for one who has bested a fellow dovah in battle’. I am not a dragon.”

“Forgive me, my instinct was to grant you this title. I am uncertain why. Perhaps one day it will become clear to both of us.”

“I expect it will,” I said uneasily. “How did you end up in the Soul Cairn?” I could see Serana getting a little impatient, but this was as important to me as her quest was to her.

“There was a time when I called Tamriel my home, but those days have long since passed. The dovah roamed the skies, vying for their small slices of territory that resulted in immense and ultimately fatal battles. But unlike some of my brethren, I sought solutions outside the norm in order to maintain my superiority. I began to explore what the dovah call ‘alok-dilon’, the ancient forbidden art that you call necromancy.”

“I think I see where this is going. You sought the Soul Cairn and the Ideal Masters for answers, and they tricked you somehow, trapping you here.”

“Yes. They assured me that my powers would be unmatched, that I could raise legions of the undead. In return, I was to serve them as a Keeper until the death of the one who calls herself Valerica.”

“And they neglected to mention she was immortal,” I said with a nod. “All right. I will give your request every consideration.”

We made it back to the portal with all haste, and I apologized along the way for spending so much time speaking with the dragon.

“Well, it is a one of a kind sort of opportunity,” she said. “Urag said we could find that Septimus person, right? That he should have an idea where the other one is?”

“Right. He’s in an ice cave north of the College. I actually found the place one day when I was out practicing and exploring, but I didn’t go in. I found out later from Urag what was in there. So, I know exactly where we need to go next.”


	10. 2.3 The Tyranny of the Sun

08042015-10042015

## 2.3

###### Elder Knowledge  
Frostfall, 1st, 4E 201

Getting to the cave again was no fun whatsoever and I celebrated that I had such a high resistance to the cold, even more so than a Nord. We went inside and carefully made our way down to the bottom along a curving pathway carved from the ice. Septimus was there, babbling to himself, along with a huge cube. His speech was so bizarre that all I got out of it was that I needed to get to the Tower Mzark via Alftand. He handed over what he called an attunement sphere, which we would need to open the way, and a cube he called a lexicon, which would record the information in the Elder Scroll there for his use while we kept the actual scroll.

Serana and I left as quickly as possible and returned to the mainland. Alftand was roughly southwest of Saarthal, so at least it wasn’t far. It was necessary to enter the ruin from a series of wooden bridges and through the ice itself. There was an expedition manifest at the camp outside, so I knew there might be people inside.

I heard a voice almost immediately. It sounded like a Khajiit, which was unfortunate only because it was clear whoever it was was in the throes of skooma withdrawal. They weren’t doing any favors there toward breaking stereotypes. The place had plenty of light because of the expedition, but most of them were dead, as we found out along the way. There wasn’t much to be said about Alftand. It wasn’t terribly different from Mzulft, really, in terms of dangers. Well, and someone in skooma withdrawal who unwisely attacked us.

Septimus hadn’t described what we were looking for to use the attunement sphere on, but I had the idea we were close when we came upon two people arguing. The female wanted to leave; there had already been too much death, she said. The male was incensed at the plea and attacked her. He won, and we were forced to kill him when he came after us next.

The lift nearby led up to the surface and I made sure to unlock the gates for it before heading back down. The only thing left was an odd structure that had rings and small blue-green spheres on the top. There was a depression that would fit the attunement sphere so I dropped it in temporarily. Similar to how the moondial at Castle Volkihar worked, things moved and parts of the surrounding floor dropped down to form a staircase leading to a door. The entrance to Blackreach I had to assume.

I had no words once we went through the door, I simply exhaled in wonder. Serana was in a similar state. We entered into a massive cavern, large enough to house an entire city from what I could see. And, given that we reached it via a Dwemer ruin, I would not be surprised if there was one down here. I couldn’t tell how high the ceiling was, but there were gleaming blue spots studded around up there. Massive mushrooms trailing long fronds dotted the rough landscape, and a gentle chiming sound kept ringing. Cobblestone roads were also evident and the dust in the air reminded me of snowflakes.

The first thing I noticed once the wonder abated a bit was a small Dwemer-style building off to my left. I was about to jump over the railing instead of taking the stairs, but Serana touched my arm and pointed. Falmer, in the distance. We sneaked over—the light available meant little when the Falmer were blind and had even better hearing then we did—and eased open the building’s door.

A skeleton greeted us, and a journal. Sinderion, a mage and researcher from Cyrodiil, had made the place into his field laboratory, and died in it. There were a multitude of arrows sticking out of his remains, so I knew the Falmer had a hand in it. His journal spoke of his research into a hitherto unknown to him species of nirnroot: crimson nirnroot. His journal made mention of his base here in Skyrim, so I supposed if I could find enough of the things I could go there later on.

He also left behind quite the oddity. He somehow cobbled together a large chest and one of the spider automatons. It was friendly enough and seemed happy to skitter around behind me and carry my things. Sort of like Horse, but without the attitude, and I got the feeling if I asked it to it would also fight. Somehow. Maybe by repeatedly ramming into things?

In addition to the Falmer were their pets, the chaurus, and automatons such as spheres and centurions. I wouldn’t doubt there was more to stumble over, but we found all that within a spare distance from the lab. There were glowing veins which when mined produced soul gems. I admit that I had always wondered where the things came from, but I rather doubted that all Tamriel got their supply from Blackreach.

We set out from the lab rather aimlessly. We simply picked a road and followed it, on the lookout for anything that might be a way to the tower we sought. One of those roads led to a kind of underground tower and a lift. I think we went north with respect to our point of entry into Blackreach, but it was hard to say for sure with how the roads dipped and rose and curved, and how easy it was to get disoriented after a Falmer attack.

The lift itself led to a room with a cooking pot over a fire, bedrolls, parchment and tools for writing, and even books. Perhaps Sinderion had been there also? Or some other exploring party? I collected what held value and we went through the only door into a room that was instantly recognizable. 

“This is a lot like the place in Mzulft,” I told Serana, veering left, expecting and finding a ramp leading upward. “I expect there’s going to be some confusing controls of some kind up there.”

The structure looked almost identical in some ways, but what was immediately obvious in opposition were the tables and chairs surrounding the central device. But, if there was an Elder Scroll present that would kind of make sense? People there, seated, waiting for some kind of enlightenment? There was also a skeleton, clutching a journal in its bony fingers. A quick read gave rise to partial understanding of the mechanism. Behind the skeleton, where the map was in Mzulft, was a door, hopefully leading to an exit to the surface. Blackreach was fascinating, but we had a lot to do and backtracking to the Alftand lift would be a waste of time.

Above, up the ramps, was a similar area to Mzulft, but this one had a handful of chairs and a receptacle for the lexicon Septimus gave me. Even with what the journal had to say it was a guessing game. Instead of rotating bands and spells on a focusing crystal, this device required using the buttons to the right to spin the giant sphere, while the left buttons manipulated the pieces descending from the ceiling.

“Here goes nothing,” I muttered and started mashing buttons. Eventually, through blind luck, something clicked and the descenders shifted and lowered to reveal an Elder Scroll. Serana grabbed the scroll as I grabbed the lexicon and dropped down, and we headed for the door. There was a lift back there, which we took. I unlocked the gate and stepped out into a small deserted campsite. I had no idea where we were, so it was another round of randomly choosing a direction and hoping to see something familiar.

I chose down, along what might be a path. It was hard to say because it was snowing fairly heavily again, but I could see a fort in the distance after a while. It was infested with bandits, of course, but they provided a bit of exercise and a meal. While they were not a surprise, the signpost right in front of the fort was. Whiterun and Windhelm to the left, Solitude to the right. We were probably facing south. Left it was, then.

“For the love of Mara,” I muttered as another assassin scurried on up, weapons out, warning us of his approach. It was yet another Khajiit. “This must be highly embarrassing for the Dark Brotherhood,” I said to Serana as I drained its blood for potions.

Unfortunately, the storm intensified to blizzard proportions and seeing anything much beyond the reach of a staff was next to impossible. When I saw the feeble glow of the lights of Nightgate Inn I pointed it out to Serana. “We’re just going to get lost in this,” I said.

She hesitated for a moment, then sighed and nodded. We’d just have to stay there until daylight or the storm blew out, whichever was sooner.

###### Seeking Disclosure  
Frostfall, 3rd, 4E 201

We were ambushed outside Winterhold by Volkihar vampires, but made it to the College where we found that Dexion had gone blind.

“I trust your journey was successful?” he said.

“Yes. We’ve brought the Elder Scrolls. You’re wearing a blindfold. What happened?”

“It is my fault,” he said. “In my haste to read the first scroll, I neglected the careful preparation required. I thought I’d be able to allay the aftereffects, but I was wrong. Now I’m paying for it.”

“Is it permanent? Can anything be done to help you?” I asked. Who else was capable of reading the damn scrolls?

“No. It’ll have to run its course, and there’s always the chance I may never recover.”

“Damn it,” Serana muttered.

“There’s another way,” Dexion said. “The question is, how much are you will to risk to find Auriel’s Bow?”

“What’s this way you’re referring to?” I asked uneasily, dreading the answer. There had been too many things already that only I could handle.

“I can’t guarantee you’ll be free from harm. Becoming blind could be the least of your worries.”

I sighed and said, “Just tell me.”

“Scattered across Tamriel are secluded locations known only as Ancestor Glades. There’s one in Skyrim, in the Pine Forest. Performing the Ritual of the Ancestor Moth within the glade should provide the answers you seek. It involves carefully removing the bark from the Canticle Tree which will in turn attract Ancestor Moths to you. Once enough of the moths are following, they’ll provide you with the second sight needed to decipher the scrolls.”

“Carefully gather the bark, how?”

“In keeping with tradition, you must use a specific tool in the Ancestor Glade, an implement known as a Draw Knife. Every Moth Priest is taught this ritual, but few ever get the chance to perform it. You should consider yourself fortunate if it works for you.”

‘Thank you so much for shooting holes in whatever confidence I may have found,’ I thought. “Do I need to read the scrolls in any particular order?”

“From what I saw in the vision, the Elder Scroll which foreshadows the defiance of the gods with the blood of mortals is the key to the prophecy.”

A part of me wanted to say that information was useless! If Harkon was to be believed, vampire lords were immortal. But I knew Dexion was saying to read the Blood Scroll first. “All right. How do the moths help?”

“Well, as I am sure you’ve figured out by now, it’s no mere coincidence we are named ‘Moth Priests’. The voice of the Ancestor Moth has always been an integral part of reading the Elder Scrolls. They maintain a connection to ancient magic that allows the Moth Priest to decipher them. If you listen closely when you find the glade, you should be able to hear their song . . . a soft, harmonious trilling.

“It’s through this ancestral chorus that the moths tap into a form of primal augur and become a conduit for deciphering the scrolls. Now, by having the Ancestor Moths close to the Moth Priest, they can utilize the conduit and share the moth’s augury. Only the most resilient of priests can do it this way. It takes years of practice to interpret the harmony.”

I sighed again and rubbed my face in frustration. “Then how do I even stand a chance?”

“You’ve come this far, and you’ve found several Elder Scrolls. Whether you believe it or not, the scrolls have a mind of their own. If they didn’t want you to find them, they wouldn’t allow it. Because of this, I strongly believe you were meant to hear the ancestral chorus. Only one way to find out.”

That didn’t explain how there used to be innumerable scrolls at the White Gold Tower before they were scattered. “You didn’t have the help of the moths. Is that what went wrong for you, or was it something else?”

“Deciphering one of the Elder Scrolls is nothing like reading a simple book. There is quite a bit of ritual and concentration required. It can take months or even years to complete a single scroll and even then, months to recover. In my case I simply was not preparing myself properly. Blindness is the inevitable fate we agree to pursue when reading Elder Scrolls, but it generally does not occur until a Moth Priest is in his latter years.”

Or go crazy like Septimus, perhaps. Dexion’s words did make me feel a bit better, though. One reading should not permanently harm me, especially not with the Ancestor Moths to ease things. I headed to the Arcanaeum to speak with Urag and he pointed us in the right direction. The glade Dexion spoke of was near Falkreath.

###### Unseen Visions  
Frostfall, 4th, 4E 201

We found the glade and entered. At first it looked like any other garden-variety cave.

“This must be the place,” Serana said. “Hmph. Not very impressive, is it? If this ends up being a wasted trip, your friend Dexion and I are going to have some words when we get back.”

As we moved deeper and across a fallen log it opened up into a much larger area with a beam of light reaching down from the heavens at the center. It was like a combination of a glade and those hot springs over near Windhelm. The ceiling above had a hole in it to let in light. Even though it was before dawn there was light, so either a Divine had something to do with it or the moon was positioned just so, or maybe a combination of things. It sort of made me want to return when neither moon was out just to see what happened at midnight.

“Wow, look at this place,” Serana said. “No one’s been here in centuries. I doubt there’s any other place like it in Skyrim. It’s beautiful.”

I wasn’t sure how she figured on the lack of visitors, but I agreed that the place was beautiful. There was a stone—well, some kind of monument, almost shrine-like? Two layers of curving stone, as though someone had fashioned a torus and chopped it in half, then added a complete one atop that. In the center of the open space hovered what I had to assume was the draw knife Dexion had mentioned. I plucked it from its position a bit warily.

“Well, we got the knife. Now all we need to do is track down one of those Canticle Trees.”

I looked around and saw one tree that stood out, even amongst all the plant life in the glade. I carefully scraped the knife down the side of the tree, shaving off thin curls of bark, enough to fit in the palm of my hand. I put the knife back and gazed around looking for moths.

“Hope those moths like that bark as much as Dexion said they would,” Serana commented. “Dexion didn’t really give us a lot to go on, did he?”

“I think it has to do with him not having any personal experience with any of this,” I replied, spotting a cluster of moths and moving toward them. “More like what he’s heard. I don’t think the monks at the White Gold Tower actually used the moths, but I could be mistaken. He did say it was rare that a monk actually got to do this.” I reached the moths and watched as they fluttered around me.

“Look at them. They’ve definitely taken a liking to you. And unless I’m seeing things, you’re starting to . . . glimmer.”

Huh. She was right. There was a faint aura forming around me. I set off to find more of the moths, trusting that I would know when I’d found enough. More and more moths joined my fluttering entourage until Serana said, “Whoa! I think that might have been what we were waiting for. Let’s head back and see if we can read the scrolls.”

It _was_ getting difficult for me to see through the almost-blinding aura surrounding me. We headed back to the area with the tree and I stood in the spot the light from above concentrated on.

“Nervous?” Serana asked.

“Well, yes,” I replied. “I could go blind, insane. . . .”

“I think you’d have to spend a lot longer at this kind of thing before you ended up like Septimus,” she said.

“One can hope.” Though really. Was insanity such an odd thought when people kept getting transmuted into sweet rolls around me? I brought up the Blood Scroll and opened it. I could see star patterns. Each scroll I read made my vision swim and falter, but at the same time a definite image was emerging. If I hadn’t been so focused and almost not even in control of my actions I’d have laughed at how my vision for mundane things was so distorted that Serana’s face kept bulging in peculiar ways.

Then my sight whited out completely, and it was over. I had seen multiple symbols, for Markarth and Morthal, for mountains, and a symbol I had never previously seen, but instantly recognized nevertheless as the location we needed. And along with it, a name: Darkfall Cave.

“Hey, are you okay?” I heard. “Almost thought I lost you there. You went as white as snow.”

My vision wasn’t doing so well, but it was slowly coming back, and the feeling of otherworldliness and disorientation was fading away.

“That felt strange, but don’t worry. I seem to be fine.”

“I could see it in your eyes. You looked about a thousand leagues away,” she said, then scowled. “I never trusted those damn scrolls. Who knows what those things could have done to you. Just look at Dexion. Well, did you see where we could find Auriel’s Bow?”

“Yes,” I said softly. “It’s in a place called Darkfall Cave. The scrolls gave me its exact location.”

“Then it’s almost over. Let’s get going. I want to get there before my father has a chance to track us down.”

I nodded and prepared to leave, but heard something . . . wrong, out of place. “Something or someone is waiting for us,” I said quietly, preparing spells.

We were attacked by a team of vampires and thralls, but we managed well enough and left the glade intact.

###### Touching the Sky  
Frostfall, 5th, 4E 201

Northeast of Markarth, west and slightly north from Morthal, almost directly west of Dragon Bridge. It would be dawn in a few hours and there was a blizzard raging. We were getting close to the place etched in my mind when we were attacked again. I had no choice but to believe we were being trailed. We needed to ensure that we weren’t seen once we got much closer, to get inside the cave without anyone knowing where in Oblivion we were.

On a side note it seemed my, uh, luggage was a very good defensive measure. Animals and people alike attacked the thing, probably because it was part spider, and it just sat there, making that clicking sound, soaking up attacks while Serana and I flung spells from behind it or from flanking positions.

Took a wrong turn, stumbled over a word wall: Grah—Battle. I almost didn’t catch the meaning because a damn hagraven was trying to claw me to death. On another side note, I bloody well hate the Reach. Every time you turn around there’s another bunch of Forsworn trying to eviscerate you. It’s difficult trying to be subtle when you’re forced to leave behind a trail of dead bodies, you know.

Not far from Darkfall Cave was an Orsimer settlement, but I had no plans to go anywhere near it. Orcs were unfond of strangers, and especially non-Orsimer strangers. “Well, do you want to just risk it and go in now, or wait until we’re sure we’re not being followed?”

“My father’s people are tenacious. We may as well go now.”

It was dark as a pit inside. There was a more open area a bit inside lit by a hole in the ceiling, which was fine, but it completely messed up my night vision. Farther in we downed a spider and I checked behind the webbing to see an obvious door with no way of opening it. That pretty much told me there was a lever or something on the other side, and that it was probably a shortcut of some kind.

The only other option was a wood-slat bridge across a gorge filled with swiftly-moving water. The other side held only a few ore veins and some tools. Of course, as we walked back across the bridge it choose that moment to collapse, dumping us into the water. As we swept along at high speed we were crowded by spiders dropping down from above. I hated to think of how many people voluntarily jumped into the river such that spiders lay in wait for just the right moment for their next meal.

We were tossed down several waterfalls along the way, to finally land in a pool. Up an incline after that very wild ride was a body of a Breton girl. 

“These people were—why would anyone want to set up camp here?” Serana mused. “I wonder what happened to them.”

There was a note with the girl.

> #### Sister,
> 
> I know that you’ll come find me, but it will be too late. If you find this letter, get out of this forsaken cave as soon as possible. We were fools to think we could live so close to such creatures and live peacefully. I should’ve headed back to camp with you after we placed the torches down here.
> 
> I thought these trolls would be different, that they would somehow understand that we didn’t want to hurt them. I am now cornered and it’s only a matter of time before one of the trolls decides to finish me off. I hope it is a quick death.
> 
> #### Farewell, my dear sister.

Crazy. Just crazy. Trolls cared about food, not friends. I was all for live and let live, but most creatures of the wild, barring rabbits and foxes and goats, seem to think if you so much as step a toe into the wilderness you’re fair game. Giants are the only ones who don’t, usually, and even they will start swinging if you stay too close for too long.

But, to satisfy my curiosity, I did a little investigating and found a way upward. It led to one of those “concealed” doors. I pulled the chain nearby and found myself staring out at the door from before. Satisfied, I closed it again and headed back down. More poking around revealed another chain, and this one opened another secret door. And I thought, if it was a secret, it might be the better path to take, or at least lead to something interesting before taking the only path remaining.

We had barely gone ten steps when I saw a cave, decently lit, and a structure within. 

“What’s that?” Serana said. “I can feel some kind of power from it.”

A few steps more in and I heard a male voice. “Come forward,” he said. “You have nothing to fear here.” He turned out to be some type of mer I had never before encountered—very pale, white hair, and mostly typical elven features. “I am Knight-Paladin Gelebor. Welcome to the Great Chantry of Auri-El.”

I raised a brow as I looked around quickly. “This cave is a temple to Auriel?”

“Auriel, Auri-El, Alkosh, Akatosh—so many different names for the sovereign of the snow elves.”

“Snow elves?” Serana said. “You’re a Falmer?”

“I prefer snow elf,” he replied. “The name ‘Falmer’ usually holds a negative meaning to most travelers. Those twisted creatures you call Falmer, I call the Betrayed.”

“I imagine you know why we’re here,” I said.

“Of course. You’re here for Auriel’s Bow. Why else would you be here? I can help you get it, but first I must have your assistance.”

Ah, a favor for a favor. “Just out of curiosity, how _did_ you know?”

“For the thousands of years I’ve served as the Chantry’s sentinel, there hasn’t been a single visitor here for any other reason. They request Auriel’s Bow, and I request their assistance. It’s been repeated so many times, I can’t imagine it any other way.”

They obviously didn’t have a good enough reason to have come, then. “What favor?”

“I need you to kill Arch-Curate Vyrthur—my brother.”

“I’m going to assume there’s a damn good reason for this particular request.”

Gelebor nodded. “The kinship between us is gone. I don’t understand what he’s become, but he’s no longer the brother I once knew. It was the Betrayed—they did something to him, I just don’t know why Auri-El would allow this to happen.”

No talk of converting him back, then. I had to assume Gelebor had already tried, probably many times. Or maybe I was a fool. “What exactly did the Betrayed do?”

“They swept into the Chantry without warning and began killing everyone without pause.”

“Would I be wrong in thinking you attempted to fight back?”

“The Chantry was a place of peaceful worship. I led a small group of paladins, but we were no match for the Betrayed’s sheer numbers. They slaughtered everyone and stormed the Inner Sanctum where I believe they corrupted Vyrthur.”

So this happened after the Falmer were driven to their Dwemer cousins and betrayed, but there were still plenty of snow elves here, who were then killed off by their own kin. Out of jealousy? Spite? “Do you even know that he’s alive?”

“He’s alive. I’ve seen him. But something’s wrong. He never looks as though he’s in pain or under duress. He just . . . stands there and watches, as though waiting.”

“Have you tried getting into the Inner Sanctum, then?”

“Leaving the wayshrines unguarded would be violating my sacred duty as a Knight-Paladin of Auri-El.”

Everyone else but him was killed. He alone managed to survive—well, and Vyrthur. I wasn’t sure I wanted to follow the thoughts through to their conclusion.

“And an assault on the Betrayed guarding the Inner Sanctum would only end with my death.”

Was I supposed to believe that Auriel saved this one snow elf to guard this place and wait for assistance? I had little real choice if we wanted that bow. “Wayshrine?” That funny little dome thing with the pillar and decorative symbol atop it?

“Yes, let me show you.” Gelebor walked over to that odd dome and cast some spell. A moment later the symbol shone with light and the entire thing rose up to reveal a six-sided structure with a pedestal basin inside.

“So, this is snow elf magic,” Serana said. “Incredible.”

I honestly couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

“This structure is known as a wayshrine. They were used for meditation and for transport when the Chantry was a place of enlightenment. Prelates of these shrines were charged with teaching the mantras of Auri-El to our Initiates.”

Serana walked up closer and up a few of the low steps. “What’s the basin in the center signify?”

“One the initiate completed his mantras, he’d dip a ceremonial ewer in the basin of the wayshrine’s center and proceed to the next wayshrine.”

“So these Initiates had to lug around a heavy pitcher of water. Marvelous. How long would they have to do that?”

I had to try very hard not to snicker. That was the Serana I’d come to know. If it upset Gelebor you’d never know it. But then, he really did need help, so even if it did I expect he’d do his best to hide his reaction.

“Well, once the Initiate’s enlightenment was complete, he’d bring the ewer to the Chantry’s Inner Sanctum. Pouring the contents of the ewer into the sacred basin of the Sanctum would allow him to enter for an audience with the Arch-Curate himself.”

“All that just to end up dumping it out? Makes no sense to me.”

“It’s symbolic,” he said. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“So let’s get this straight,” she said. “We need to do all that nonsense to get into the temple, so we can kill your brother and claim Auriel’s Bow?”

The look on Gelebor’s face hinted at his desire to sigh or roll his eyes at Serana, but he said, “I know how it all sounds, but if there was another way I’d have done it long ago. The only way to get to my brother is by following in the Initiate’s footsteps and traveling from wayshrine to wayshrine just as they did. The first lay at the end of Darkfall passage, a cavern that represents the absence of enlightenment.”

“How many wayshrines are there?” I asked.

“There are five in total, spread far across the Chantry.”

I frowned. “These caves must be massive.”

“Caves? Oh, no. The Chantry encompasses far more than a few caves, as you’ll soon discover. But before I send you on your way, you’ll need the Initiate’s Ewer.” He went away for a bit and returned with the ewer.

As I took it I clarified, “So I need to fill this at each wayshrine?”

“Once you’ve located a wayshrine, there will be a spectral Prelate tending to it. They will allow you to draw the waters from the shrine’s basin as if you’ve been enlightened. This may be the last time we’re able to converse. If you have any questions before you leave, I suggest you ask them. Otherwise, all I can do now is grant you my hopes for a safe journey.”

Any questions I had could wait. Assuming we all survived this I could ask then. I stepped up into the wayshrine and dipped the ewer, starting slightly when an image formed on one of the bare walls. I hung the ewer from my belt and stepped into the image.


	11. 2.4 The Tyranny of the Sun

10042015

## 2.4

###### Touching the Sky  
Frostfall, 5th, 4E 201

“Well,” Serana said, “that wasn’t as unpleasant as I thought it would be. Kind of soothing, actually. I feel a little warmer, now.”

We’d not been in Darkfall Passage ten minutes and I already loathed the place with an unholy passion. It was dark as a pit and the lanterns were both a blessing and a serious drawback. I tucked my firebug away and let my vision adjust, finally getting a better look at the odd plants. The clusters had wide stems and opened up into “flowers” of purple and pink. When you got close enough they stopped glowing and the flowers retracted into the tubular stems.

There were also mushrooms, similar to the ones at Blackreach, and funny little glowing pinkish-blue flowers like upturned bells. I picked the ones I came across. We eventually made it past Falmer and chaurus to a door at the end of a corridor with two pull-chains nearby, and a skeleton with a note on it.

> #### I made it farther than I thought, but I’m afraid I can’t go on. I choose not to.
> 
> I am content to die here, in this quiet little room, alone with my thoughts. The creatures won’t follow me here. No more danger. The silence is welcoming.

I guess that’s one way to go out. “I have no idea what this person meant by a room, though,” I commented as I handed the note to Serana. “Must have been dragged here after death?”

She read it quickly and shrugged. “Hm. Pull chains and traps,” Serana said. “Be careful here. Whatever’s on the other side of this, the Falmer wanted to keep there.”

I pulled the right chain and watched half a dozen traps go off in succession. Great. Oblivion only knew what was on the other side to warrant such defenses. The left chain opened the door.

There was a sabre cat on the other side, which was easy enough to deal with. The odd thing, though—its pelt had odd markings that glowed sort of green, as though it had some connection to the plants which glowed in the dark. The new area was a less cramped cave, and again had the mushrooms similar to Blackreach. I would think that odd even with the previous connection to the Falmer, because Blackreach was Dwemer, and these were snow elves. Had the Falmer here carried some with them?

A new plant presented itself. The petals?—leaves?—were like lace. Or, maybe, old leaves in Hearthfire or Frostfall, where the veins stay but the leaf material rots away. They rattled warningly when we got close. I was able to rip some of the centers away—kind of like seed pods, I suppose—but if you didn’t time it right a gas of some kind was released, like a poison. It made Serana and I cough something fierce when we were hit with it.

Pools of water had formed under waterfalls high above. There were deer with glowing spots on their hides, like that sabre cat. And finally, a wayshrine! Gelebor said there would be spectral Prelates, and there was one.

“This is the kind of thing I've been wanting to see,” Serana said in an almost awed voice. “Makes everything worth it. I think that’s another wayshrine up there. Here we go.”

Once we got close enough the Prelate said, “Welcome, Initiate. This is the Wayshrine of Illumination. Are you prepared to honor the mantras of Auri-El and fill your vessel with His enlightenment?”

“Yes.” True, I felt like a horrible liar, but it was the only way to go on. I had no idea what Auriel’s mantras even were.

“Then behold Auri-El’s gift, my child.” The Prelate cast the same spell Gelebor had and caused the wayshrine to rise. “May it light your path as you seek tranquility within the Inner Sanctum. May Auri-El’s brilliance illuminate your path.”

I stepped up and added water to the ewer from the basin, then hooked it back to my belt. I’d probably have spilled the thing already had I been a traditional Nord melee fighter. The image that flickered into being showed a brighter destination. I knew Serana was none too fond of daylight, but I happened to like it well enough and would really prefer to not be in dark caves any longer if possible.

We stepped through into another cave. It was much brighter, though. I followed the only path into a kind of well, almost, with sunlight coming down from above. I could also smell fresh air, so I moved along a bit more quickly. We took the path winding around the interior and emerged into a misty vale. It was outside and I was thrilled.

“This is incredible,” Serana said. “It’s like a whole other world. Come on, the bow has to be in this valley somewhere. I wonder where this goes.”

The animals in the vale had those same luminescent markings, but they looked more lavender. Well, the troll we bumped into didn’t, but. . . . It was a good thing I stored a decent supply of blood potions in the Luggage. I got the feeling we’d be there for some time. We picked a direction more or less at random and set to walking, and ended up going through a pass full of spiders, but on the other side it opened up considerably. Down the steps and to the right I could see a skeleton and moved toward it, but realized I could see more ruined structures up on the cliffs ahead of us. But one of them? It didn’t look at all ruined. It was like an overlook or even a balcony, jutting out from the cliff face.

The skeleton was laid out next to a chest and a book in a language I didn’t recognize. I tucked that away to show Urag later. To the left (south, perhaps, but the sun was high and it was hard to tell) was another wayshrine: the Shrine of Learning. After I used the ewer a portal appeared, which did not especially surprise me. It appeared to lead back to Darkfall Passage. I had to assume this would happen at each wayshrine, and which images appeared would depend on which wayshrines we had already visited.

That overlook was almost directly in line with the wayshrine, so to whatever extent that should assist with keeping track of where we were in this place. Continuing on brought us to a waterfall, so we crossed the river at a safe distance and started back on the other side. We had ignored that path leading up at one end of the river because we’d wanted to see as much as possible of the level we were on.

At the far end I practically rammed into a frost giant. The damn things blend in too well to the snow and the sounds of multiple waterfalls, well. . . . It had something on it. I had a hard time deciding what to even call it. It was part amethyst, cut into kind of an egg shape, but with pointed ends, and wrapped in a lacework of gold around the center circumference.

So, having seen what we could (and truly, what can be said about a massive valley with ice, snow, luminescent wildlife, and plenty of waterfalls?) we went up the path at that end, expecting (or more hoping) it would bring us to the same location as the path at the other end. But as I was part way up I happened to look to the side and saw a cave at the top of that waterfall with another frost giant.

That one had a sapphire thing. Across from his cave, across the river, was another ruin. A closer look revealed it had some manner of pedestal with a socket. The shape of the indentation was that of one of the gem things from the giants, so I pointed it out to Serana and asked what she thought.

“Might as well,” she said. “The worst that happens is nothing happens.”

I shrugged and brought out the sapphire one and inserted it end down. An image flickered into being within the broken arch to the left. Some kind of building interior with architecture which matched the other snow elf buildings and ruins. We stepped through and saw windows of a sort, but they looked out onto ice walls. They were of no use in getting an idea of where we’d been transported to. That did not stop me from looting three chests and an obscene amount of gems from the place before stepping back through the portal.

The amethyst “key” took us to an otherwise inaccessible spot back in Darkfall where we found the first wayshrine, with a few items of interest. It was otherwise pointless. Back in the vale we returned to the path and headed up. After we crested the top we saw a wayshrine, aside the river and up a short cliff, and in the distance I could see what looked to be an ice plain under that overlook. In the other direction, a gorge?

We headed toward the overlook first, mainly to see if the original path up came out over at that side. We would circle around back to get to the wayshrine we could already see.

“Does this ice seem a little thin to you?” Serana asked as we jogged along.

There were multiple cracks visible in it and I could hear it shifting every so often, but prayed it would remain whole. It wasn’t as though either of us weighed all that much and it was thick enough that it was opaque.

There was a word wall almost immediately past the waterfall’s origin: Lah—Magicka. With it was two ice wraiths (stupid things), a skeleton (which Serana pressed into service), and various items I tucked away. The overlook was much closer and that much easier to see, but there was no possible way to get up there. Was it a part of the Inner Sanctum?

We backtracked. The Shrine of Resolution had two portals: Darkfall Passage and the Shrine of Learning. That left the gorge. Night had long since fallen by then and we had two options: high or low. Down at the river or on the same level as the most recent wayshrine. We chose high and it didn’t end up mattering since the path went up and then back down to the river.

Another frost giant, another gem key. I had fun with it, recasting my summon each time it got clubbed into nothingness. But then it managed to club me and I very nearly died before I could get another summon in to steal its attention and then heal myself, not to mention nearly spilled the contents of the ewer. That fellow’s key was emerald, but it could most certainly wait.

###### Frostfall, 6th, 4E 201

By midnight we were back at the river, but a level up. Levels were relative in the place given how the ice and paths curved and dipped and rose. I hoped nothing of importance was down at the bottom of the waterfall. The gorge was wearying beyond belief. Stone spans over the gorge, back and forth, up and down, with constructed walkways and those strange Falmer huts. . . . You got this sense of never making any progress, like you just kept moving in a never-ending circuit of tedium.

The “start” of the river led into a crevice, inside which was a cave with a path leading upward. More Falmer were inside; there were always more Falmer. I loathed and detested the things even as I felt sympathy for what happened to them, for the betrayal they were subjected to. By the time we emerged back outside the sky was lightening up. With a sigh I slumped against the nearest wall.

“Yeah,” Serana said, then popped Luggage open and pulled out some blood potions, handing me one.

“Thank you,” I said. “I think we need to take a short break anyway. We’ve been at this a full day already with no rest and no end in sight. Even just an hour or two would help. We can do it properly at the next wayshrine, I hope.”

When I set a trio of huts on fire Serana asked, “What—are you doing?”

“I’m losing my mind,” I replied. “I hate this place, I hate the Falmer, and I just wanted to see it all burn.” But at least we were outside again, right? Yes, it was all still snow and ice, but it wasn’t pathways and ledges of ice that tilted, with not even barely adequate barriers to prevent a tiny mistake that would see you take a long plunge into the water far below. It was pretty awful when you felt safer on one of those horrid woven Falmer bridges than you did on the ground.

“Yeah, well, don’t melt so much you start a flash flood and wash us away to Cyrodiil,” she joked, making me laugh.

After that rest I climbed up a ways from the exit to try to see what was up ahead in that part of the gorge. More Falmer homes, of course, but in the distance and higher up I could see a bridge of old construction, like the wayshrines and many of the arches, so snow elf. It was misty, but still infinitely better than being in that cave.

The climb also involved another frost giant, who was kind enough to give us his diamond key. I wondered if there were any others, and if so, how many. And speaking of things to collect, I found another of those books written in an unknown language. To Urag it would go, eventually. And if I didn’t think I’d have my throat slit without warning because both of us fell asleep I’d have suggested we rest for real in the first hut. It even had a fire burning.

After a long slog we made it to the final wayshrine. Up ahead, over a bridge, was a simply massive structure in the snow elf style. I couldn’t think of anything it could possibly be except for the Inner Sanctum.

“That—that has to be the place,” Serana said. “I’ve never seen a building like that before. It looks like some kind of temple. Never saw anything like this back on the island.”

“You’ve found the Wayshrine of Radiance, Initiate,” said the Prelate once we got close enough. “Are you prepared to honor the mantras of Auri-El and fill your vessel with His enlightenment?”

“Yes,” I said wearily, and he opened the shrine so I could fill my ewer.

“May the blessings of Auri-El protect you as you climb the road to the Inner Sanctum and final enlightenment. May Auri-El’s radiance fill your heart with joy.”

There was only one tiny problem. We had missed one. I could have cried from the sheer frustration of it all. We repaired to the uppermost hut near the Wayshrine of Radiance and broke out more blood potions. “Go ahead and rest,” I said. “I’ll wake you when I simply can’t stay awake any longer.”

###### Frostfall, 7th, 4E 201

It was time to go find the one we missed.

“I feel like the worst kind of idiot,” I commented. After all that care in the icier parts of the vale we never had made the rounds of the initial side of the pass, where there was less snow. Looking back I realized we had simply picked a direction and went with it, completely forgetting to explore everything there.

After I filled the ewer for the last time (it had formed a skin of ice at the top, which was unsurprising once I thought about it) all the portals were open and we stepped through to the Shrine of Radiance. We immediately made for the bridge. The architecture of the building was just staggering, but sadly, there were places where conflict had damaged it. There were great gouges in parts of the stonework, as if massive boulders had hit and created gaping wounds.

On entering I saw a statue, which Serana commented on. “That is a statue of Auriel, but it’s using the older signs of his power. This temple must be ancient. The bow has to be in here.”

To either side were stairs, so we climbed up to find a basin, grooves in the floor leading from it to a concave depression in the shape of the symbol, and a massive set of doors with that same symbol where handles would normally be. I emptied the ewer into the basin and for several long moments nothing happened. I briefly thought about crying if all this had been for nothing.

But then the water drained and reappeared in the grooves, and slowly drained to the symbol. Once it had all made the journey a radiance grew and the symbol on the door spun, then parted, and the doors opened. Inside. . . .

Inside was a large more or less square room, perhaps a bit deeper than wide, filled with Falmer and chaurus encased in ice. They were arrayed around a central dais with the symbol of Auriel on it, where offerings had been left. Many of the frozen had things in their hands, but I was wary of taking any as I worried that doing so might “wake” them.

“These Falmer are—they’re frozen in the ice. I wonder how long they’ve been like this. And I thought the Soul Cairn was creepy.”

Well, Gelebor had said he’d stood guard for thousands of years. The pillars of the temple were damaged. Gouged, cracked, or missing sections entirely. There were piles of rubble from the destruction and one pillar was utterly destroyed. Skeletons were also present, presumably the massacred snow elves, some of them sticking out of the rubble itself.

At the back were doors, more like gates, but off to the side was a pedestal and a solid door. I headed for that and could think of no way to open the door—that is, until the ewer I had hooked to my belt again unthinkingly clanked up against the stone. I set it atop the pedestal and was pleased to see the door slide up and out of the way.

Through it was a similar pedestal, which confused me, and a skeleton up ahead. The passage turned right. Another frost giant was there, beyond a set of those gate-like doors. That meant at least one more key, assuming things went to pattern. Indeed, he had one. There were . . . a lot of skeletons in that room. One of them was plastered up against the “window” and I couldn’t help but see it all happen in my mind.

Even stranger, there was another pedestal in there. I ran back to get the ewer, shutting us in for the moment, and placed it on the new one. It opened to a little room with potions, arrows, and other things. Back in the main room we checked for other such opportunities, but found none, so I grabbed the ewer and we returned to the entrance.

Both sets of gate-doors led to the same place and there were so many skeletons. One was even under a table. Ice had built up heavily along one wall, leaving the exit through there looking more like a natural ice cavern than what it had originally been. We were forced to jump down from a ledge. The damage was bad enough to either have destroyed stairs or shifted levels entirely. It would be impossible to say without using more flames than I’d care to produce to melt the ice and see the truth hiding beneath.

Down a long hallway I could spy more of the frozen. A few slow, cautious steps and a slight shift to the side revealed someone sitting on a throne. Vyrthur, I presumed. “I think this is it,” I whispered, then proceeded down the hall.

“Did you really come here expecting to claim Auriel’s Bow?” Vyrthur said mockingly. “You’ve done exactly as I predicted and brought your fetching companion to me.”

“Wait, is he talking . . . about me?” Serana asked quietly.

“Which, I’m sorry to say, means your usefulness is at an end!” Vyrthur proclaimed, then woke some of the frozen. As soon as we had defeated them he said, “An impressive display, but a wasted effort. You delay nothing but your own deaths!”

“Watch out!” Serana cried. “He’s pulling down the ceiling!”

And indeed he was. I ducked behind one of the pillars until it stopped.

Vyrthur unfroze more of his minions and ordered, “Finish them!” We had defeated about half of them when he said, “This has gone on long enough. Child, my life ended long before you were born!”

We kept right on killing, until they were gone.

“No—I won’t let you ruin centuries of preparations. . . .”

“Surrender and give us the bow!” Serana shouted.

“Death first!” he shouted back, then raised his arms. The ceiling started to break up again, except this time the whole thing was coming down. I wedged myself into a corner and prayed.

A few minutes later it seemed to have stopped and Serana found me and gave me a hand up. “Are you all right? Come on, we can do this. I know we can. He’s up there, on the balcony. Come on!” She rushed off and got to him first. “Enough, Vyrthur. Give us the bow!”

I took position to the other side, so he was cornered at the point of the balcony.

“How dare you. I was the Arch-Curate of Auri-El, girl. I had the ears of a god!”

He sounded a little too smug about that, considering.

“Until the ‘Betrayed’ corrupted you. Yes, yes. We’ve heard this sad story.”

“Gelebor and his kind are easily manipulated fools. Look into my eyes, Serana. You tell me what I am.”

“You’re—you’re a vampire? But Auriel should have protected you. . . .”

“The moment I was infected by one of my own Initiates, Auri-El turned his back on me,” he said bitterly.

He didn’t have even a single Cure Disease potion handy? What kind of a temple had he been running? Had he been knocked on the head and asleep for three days to end up a vampire? Was Auriel supposed to have cured him straight away or something? Instead of helping himself he just blamed Auriel instead?

“I swore I’d have my revenge, no matter what the cost.”

“You want to take revenge . . . on a god?” Serana asked in patent disbelief.

“Auri-El himself may have been beyond my reach, but his influence on our world wasn’t. All I needed was the blood of a vampire and his own weapon, Auriel’s Bow.”

“The blood of a vampire. . . . Auriel’s Bow. . . . It—it was you? You created that prophecy?”

How could any mortal make Elder Scrolls bend to his will?

“A prophecy that lacked a single, final ingredient—the blood of a pure vampire. The blood of a Daughter of Coldharbour.”

Serana got incredibly angry at that point and hauled Vyrthur up by his neck. “You were waiting . . . all this time for someone with my blood to come along. Well, too bad for you. I intend on keeping it. Let’s see if your blood has any power over it!”

Vyrthur managed to wrench himself away, and Serana and I attacked along with our summons, and defeated him. With his last breath he said, “Farewell.”

To what, or whom? Life? Revenge? His brother? His god? As I pondered several things the wayshrine behind us on the level below activated. I jumped over the side of the railing and ran around to the front. Gelebor was there.

“So, the deed has been done. The restoration of this wayshrine means that Vyrthur must be dead and the Betrayed no longer have control over him.”

“Uh, not exactly,” I said. “The Betrayed weren’t to blame. He was a vampire. He controlled them.”

“A vampire? I see. That would explain much. Deep inside, it brings me joy that the Betrayed weren’t to blame for what happened here.”

I furrowed my brow in mild confusion. “Why?”

“Because that means there’s still hope that they might one day shed their hatred and learn to believe in Auri-El once again. It’s been a long time since I felt that way and it’s been long overdue. My thanks, to both of you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You risked everything to get Auri-El’s Bow, and as well, you’ve restored the Chantry. I can’t think of a more deserving champion to carry it than you. If you wish to learn more about the bow, or obtain Sunhallowed Arrows for it, I’d be more than happy to help. You’ve but to ask. Please, take the bow.”

I looked into the wayshrine and saw that the bow was hovering over the basin inside, radiating a gentle aura. I stepped inside to take it, grateful that it didn’t actually harm me just by holding it. “What will happen to you now?” I asked Gelebor.

“Even with Vyrthur gone and the Inner Sanctum destroyed, my duty as a Knight-Paladin of Auri-El remains. I’ve been sworn to protect this vale and everything it represents until I die. The wayshrines will remain open, for the time being. If remnants of our kind who escaped the betrayal at the hands of the Dwemer exist out there, perhaps they will find this place one day.”

I nodded. “What can you tell me about Auriel’s Bow?”

“Ah, the bow was said to be carried by Auri-El himself into battle against the forces of Lorkhan in ancient and mythic times. It draws its power from Aetherius itself, channeling it through the sun. Therefore, when an arrow is loosed from the bow, it produces a magical effect very similar to being burned by fire. And that’s only a fraction of its potential. With Sunhallowed Arrows, you would be able to produce a much more spectacular effect, causing bursts of sunlight to envelop your foes. The sunbursts would certainly hurt anything, but is especially devastating to the undead.”

I nodded again. It sounded like the perfect sort of weapon to use against Harkon. “Vyrthur said something about using blood?”

“Well, using an arrow with the bow that’s been dipped in blood may cause it to function differently, corrupting its purpose. That’s of course if you’re foolish enough to try it.”

“Not something I’m interested in,” I said. “But, Sunhallowed Arrows?”

“I can assist you in that regard. If you were to bring me some good quality elven arrows I could imbue them with the proper incantations and rituals.”

I checked Luggage and hauled out every elven arrow I had picked up along the way, which was more than I realized. “Is this too much?” I asked.

“I can only do them twenty at a time, so it will take a while,” he warned, but gestured for them.

While he was doing that I went back up to where we killed Vyrthur to talk to Serana.

###### Kindred Judgment  
Frostfall, 7th, 4E 201

“It’s . . . not as shiny as I was expecting,” she said, nodding at the bow. “Still, it’s beautiful.”

“What do we do now?” I asked, even though I was fairly sure she hadn’t changed her mind.

“I think we both know . . . it’s time to face my father. If we don’t, he’ll keep chasing us for the rest of our lives.”

“Yeah. If we do, he’ll have to die,” I said bluntly, but not unkindly.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time,” she said. “It’s—it’s not easy. But I don’t think we have much of a choice. No. He has to die. We have no choice.”

I nodded, the corner of my mouth quirking almost into a smile of sorts. “Then let’s face him, together.”

“Thank you. Somehow I knew you’d understand.” She paused, looking worried. “But if we head back to the castle and kick the front door in, we’re going to be knee-deep in his friends. Is there anyone you know who can be trusted to help?”

“I think I know just the person,” I said slowly. “While Gelebor is making those Sunhallowed Arrows, do you want to go deal with the rest of these gem keys?”

###### Frostfall, 15th, 4E 201

Depressing as it seemed at the time, after all was said and done we went ahead and revisited the Soul Cairn, to let Valerica know that Harkon was dead and it was safe for her to return should she wish to do so. After that Serana and I went to Whiterun, to Elysium. I reminded her she was free to claim one of the beds, either in the loft, the second bedroom, or the guest house. She chose the loft for privacy.

Harkon had given us one final chance to hand over the bow. We refused. There wasn’t even any point in explaining to him how the prophecy had come about, he was that obsessed. So Serana and I attacked, and Auriel’s Bow with Sunhallowed Arrows were very helpful, especially whenever Harkon went behind a barrier at a fountain of blood at the back of the room. One arrow brought down the ward every time.

But we were at kind of a loss at that point. The threat of the Tyranny of the Sun was over—assuming no one managed to steal Auriel’s Bow from me _and_ get some or all of Serana’s blood (or Valerica’s), and that assumed there was even anyone left amongst the remnants of the Volkihar who even knew of the prophecy and its components to go looking for those things.


	12. 3.1 Interlude

10042015-19042015

## 3.1

###### Frostfall, 16th, 4E 201

“So what now?” Serana asked.

I contemplated that as we sat by the fire, eyeing the new decoration I had propped up on a shelf. I’d found it in the ruin that sat atop the mountain between Elysium and some town while I was poking around. I had also found a word wall in there: Fus—Force. “Well, I still have a ways to go when it comes to my skills. They may have made me Arch-Mage, but my skills are hardly equal to that, at least in my opinion. So, I’ll continue wandering as I have been and I’ll just ask around in each town about any bounties needing to be handled and take care of them along the way.”

“Sounds good,” she replied.

And with that we got up and got ready to leave.

“Oh, wow. Maybe the Dark Brotherhood is wising up a little?” I said. “They sent a Dunmer after me this time.”

“Who’d you piss off to have this happening?”

“I honestly have no idea,” I said with a shrug. “This is like . . . the fourth assassin now? It’s been happening for a while.”

We made it to Riften a few hours after nightfall and entered the Bee and Barb. That redheaded thief from before smirked at me and said, “Glad to see you’ve finally come to your senses. Ready to make some coin, lass?”

I laughed and walked away, finding an empty seat at one of the tables. He decided to try to join me, but Serana neatly slipped into the other seat and arched a brow at him. I made like a normal human and had some mead, then arranged for rooms for the night. I also asked Keerava if there were any bounties to be had.

The one she handed over wasn’t far away according to my map—Keerava was kind enough to point out where—so it shouldn’t be a problem to take care of it.

###### Frostfall, 17th, 4E 201

We headed out in the morning. I really wished they would unblock that east-facing gate for those times when going east was necessary. Well, we got there easily enough and nipped in. All the bandits inside were asleep, but not for long. Serana and I simply sneaked up to each of them and drained them. Interestingly there was a secret room, with a dead prisoner. Well, not so much secret as meant to imprison someone. Leifnarr, apparently, according to some papers he had on him. If I ran across his family I’d be sure to let them know of his demise. Either way, the cave had some of the lamest and least disguised traps I’d yet seen.

###### Frostfall, 18th, 4E 201

We found ourselves at the College again. I offloaded those strange books with Urag for a thousand septims each. He told me he recognized them as original language copies of some books he had. And since he had more than one copy of each he gave me a set in addition to the money.

While we were there I checked in on Dexion. On our way past Windhelm I had stopped in at the courier office there and had a request sent off to Solitude, to the Imperial Legion. Hopefully by the next time I came through Winterhold Dexion would have been escorted on his way back to Cyrodiil. Couriers, at least those not directly attached to the military, were more or less above taking sides, so I expected my message would get there without too much trouble.

Since we were there I spent some time in the library. I had decided, perhaps correctly and perhaps erroneously, that part of why Serana could be weird at times was that she never really had enough time to assimilate all the centuries she’d lost while asleep, locked in that tomb. Time spent at the College, with the Arcanaeum available, should give her a chance to catch up on things without the looming threat of her father to distract her.

Odd. I noticed a chest I never had before. It reminded me of that Daedric gauntlet I found in the Midden, and the journal there on the table. Urag was about, as always, so if I planned to investigate that chest it’d have to wait, as I didn’t expect he’d take too kindly to me unlocking it and taking the contents. For the time being, reading.

###### Frostfall, 22nd, 4E 201

How interesting. I found a book about the Dwemer which spoke of a mysterious artifact. Naturally, there wasn’t a thing about where it might be or what it looked like, but that was typical, I supposed. It wasn’t as though anyone spent a lot of time describing other Dwemer artifacts, even if their names were known to history. I also took care of paperwork, with Tolfdir showing me how things worked, before we left, and authorized a bunch of expenditures.

On our way out we ran into some Imperial soldiers at the end of the bridge looking a bit nervous. The one in charge showed me the request I had sent so I led them into the College and let Dexion know his escort had arrived. Dexion had very little to pack so it wasn’t long before he was bundled up against the cold and ready to leave.

I collected another sweet roll. I was starting to wonder if Sheogorath was fond of me for some inexplicable reason.

We parted ways when the road split, Serana and I continuing on west and Dexion and his escort heading south toward Whiterun. It would have been suicide to head down past Windhelm, after all, and it was enough of a risk to come to Winterhold. The Stormcloaks there would have attacked and poor Dexion would have been caught in the middle.

We picked up a bounty in Dawnstar for a giant. Not really sure why, though. Tumble Arch Pass is almost equidistant between Dawnstar and Whiterun, so, well, whatever. When I passed by there I’d handle it, but I’d not backtrack just for that. In Morthal we picked up a bounty to kill some bandit group at Robber’s Gorge (what an unimaginative name!), and the innkeeper was all too eager to share the recent tragedy in town.

It seemed one of the homes was burnt down under suspicious circumstances. People claimed it was done by the owner, with his wife and child still inside. I supposed they gossiped because the man, Hroggar, moved in with some woman named Alva the very next day. I guess they weren’t simply friends? I mean, in theory, he’d have to live somewhere while rebuilding, right? I guess it was because Alva was female, or there was something about her—or his behavior around her.

###### Frostfall, 23rd, 4E 201

Well now, that was interesting. When I came out of my room in the morning I saw Alva—she seemed . . . sultry—coming out of one of the rooms with Aslfur. He was one of the Jarl’s men, I thought, her steward? Perhaps Alva was a troublemaker after all. I resolved to go speak with the Jarl about what the innkeeper said regarding Hroggar and the fire.

Once I got past Aslfur (who, as it turned out, was the Jarl’s husband in addition to being her steward), I said to Jarl Idgrod, “I heard you wanted someone to look into that house fire. Is that correct?”

“Hroggar’s house fire?” she replied. “He lost his wife and daughter in the blaze. My people believe it to be cursed now. Who am I to gainsay them?”

‘Right,’ I thought. True, there were spirits, usually restless, but the ones causing trouble were usually forced to act that way. “What does Hroggar say happened?”

“Hroggar blames his wife for spilling bear fat in the fire. Many folk think he set the fire himself.”

I frowned. Because of the rumors involving Alva? “Even with his wife and child in the house?”

“Lust can make a man do the unthinkable. The ashes were still warm when he pledged himself to Alva,” the Jarl replied.

‘Ah, so those weren’t just rumors. That looks really bad,’ I thought. “And there’s nothing substantial enough to have arrested him.”

“On rumor and gossip? No,” Jarl Idgrod said. “But you, a stranger, might find the truth for us. Sift through the ashes that others are too fearful to touch. See what they tell you. Should you prove him guilty or innocent, I will reward you.”

I nodded and departed the longhouse. At least those words were somewhat comforting. The Jarl seemed to want the truth of the matter, not just what was convenient. The burned out house had a little surprise in the corner, out of casual sight. The ghost of a child was there, Helgi, but she refused to tell me much about what had happened. But to find out who was responsible for setting the fire would require a game.

“If you can find me first, I can tell you,” Helgi said, then faded out.

Serana sighed. “Well, she is just a child. So we need to go to where she’s buried, and before this mystery person does.”

“I’m going to assume the people did the usual and buried the poor thing, so. . . .”

We found the grave easily enough; it was up behind the house, on higher ground. Strangely, though, there was just the one grave visible, and at that, the hole was shallow and the coffin was unburied and half out of the ground. And, unfortunately, it was morning. Helgi had insisted it be dark, so we had a lot of time to kill.

People in town refused to talk about it and seemed to think that the Jarl was a fool for having any of it investigated, which I found very strange, belief in curses aside. Idgrod the Younger asked me to deliver a letter for her, to Danica in Whiterun, after I questioned her about the incident. I agreed; I’d get there eventually anyway.

I wanted to speak with Hroggar himself, but he was nowhere to be found. I did find Alva’s house, though. No one answered when I knocked and I was not about to pick the lock in broad daylight. When evening did finally come around I checked the coffin and heard, “Make Laelette go away!”

A split second later I heard spells flying. Obviously Laelette had crept up into place while my attention was off in the clouds. The drain spell and the glowing eyes rather gave away that she was a vampire, but she was just a normal one (if any could be called normal) and went down easily.

“You found me!” Helgi said, her form becoming visible. “Laelette was trying to find me too, but I’m glad you found me first. Laelette was told to burn mommy and me, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to play with me forever and ever. She kissed me on the neck, and I got so cold that the fire didn’t even hurt. Laelette thought she could take me and keep me, but she can’t. I’m all burned up.”

I turned away when Helgi said she was tired and wanted to sleep, to see a man standing over Laelette’s body. “Laelette! She’s dead!” he cried. “Ysmir’s beard! She’s—she’s a vampire!”

Serana hung back while I stepped toward him. She was more recognizable as a vampire, anyway. (Maybe it was her outfit?) “Apparently so, yes,” I said to him. “How did you know her?”

“She was my wife,” he almost sobbed. “I thought she left to join the Stormcloaks. Ah! My poor Laelette!”

Oh dear. “Ah, did you notice anything strange before she left?”

He continued to stare at her corpse as he said, “She began to spend a lot of time with Alva. Yet just a week before, she despised her. In fact, the night she disappeared, she was supposed to meet Alva. Alva told me later that she never showed up. I never got to tell her good-bye.”

I felt Serana ghost up behind me and then heard her whisper, “If you didn’t catch it, I did. Alva is a vampire.”

Well, Serana was a lot older and probably had much keener senses. So—“I think . . . they probably did meet up.”

“You think Alva—but that means—ye gods! You think Alva is a vampire?” he said skeptically.

“It’s a distinct possibility,” I said.

“No! You’re wrong. You must be wrong. Laelette may have met her fate out in the marsh. I refuse to believe Alva had anything to do with this. There is no way you can prove it to the Jarl.” He shook his head vehemently and moved a bit away, but still near to the body.

I turned away and rejoined Serana. “Wonderful,” I muttered. “Another one Alva has her claws into.”

“So we break into her house,” Serana said with a slight shrug.

“Mm, I agree. Preferably while she’s not in it, though Hroggar might well be. I don’t care one way or the other if Alva is a vampire, but if she’s seducing townsfolk, turning some of them, and ordering deaths, that’s another matter entirely.”

“So let’s stop at the inn to see if she’s there again, and if so, we can go search her house.”

We barely got back to the main street in town when I saw Alva headed toward the inn, a guard in tow. I exchanged a look with Serana and headed toward Alva’s house. Outside I waited until the patrolling guards were far enough away, quickly picked the lock, and ducked inside, a spell at the ready. I was right to be cautious; Hroggar was there, axe in hand, ready to kill. Calm took care of that little issue and he turned away, utterly disinterested.

“Keep him calm,” Serana hissed. “I’ll check the cellar.” She was back within a minute or two and we ducked back out. Once we were far enough away she handed over a journal and said, “It’s a bit obvious when there’s a sleeping coffin in plain sight.”

I snickered and opened the journal.

> My life is dreary. Where is my prince come to rescue me? Where is my bold Nord warrior to sweep me off my feet?
> 
> I met a man today when picking nightflowers. He is exciting and exotic. We kissed in the moonlight. It was so romantic. I’m going to see him again tonight.
> 
> Now I understand the true colors of the night. Movarth has shown me the true black of night and the true red of blood. He has promised me a feast of blood if I do his bidding in Morthal.
> 
> Hroggar was easy to seduce. Movarth said I should find a protector first, someone to watch over my coffin during the day. Hroggar is perfect.
> 
> Laelette came to visit me tonight. She slaked my thirst. I’ve hidden her away to let her rise as my handmaiden. I’ve spread the rumor in town that she left to join the war. Fools.
> 
> Movarth has confided his grand plan to me. I am to seduce the guardsmen one at a time and make them my slaves. Then he and the others from the coven can descend upon Morthal and take the entire town. We won’t kill them. They will become cattle for our thirst. An endless supply of blood and an entire town to protect us from the cursed sun.
> 
> Hroggar’s family is becoming inconvenient. I’ve told Laelette to kill them all, but make it look like an accident. Hroggar must be seen as innocent if he is going to be my protector.
> 
> That little fool! Laelette burned Hroggar’s family alive. I asked for an accident and she gave me a scandal. To make matters worse, she tried to turn his little girl, Helgi. Except Laelette couldn’t even get that right. She killed the child and left the body to burn.
> 
> Something is wrong with Laelette. She keeps talking about Helgi. I think her mind has snapped. She seems to think that the child can still be brought back to be her companion.
> 
> There is a stranger in town, looking into the fire. I’ll have to be careful.

“Oh gods,” I muttered.

“Yeah.”

“Well, fine. I doubt the Jarl would appreciate us wandering in at this hour, so I guess there’s more waiting to be done.”

“You know Alva will find out from Hroggar and probably run for it,” Serana said.

“I know, but there’s no help for it, really. Hopefully, if that happens, the Jarl will have an idea of where to look.”

“All right, then. Let’s go waste some time.”

###### Frostfall, 24th, 4E 201

As soon as it was feasible we returned to the Jarl’s longhouse. “It was Alva,” I said, offering up the journal. “Big plot, you won’t like it. It’s in here.”

“Alva? Didn’t think she had it in her.” Jarl Idgrod took the journal and started reading, then said, “So it’s true. That traitorous bitch! Morthal owes you a debt. Here.”

Aslfur stepped up and gave me a coin pouch, the reward for finding evidence either way, I assumed.

“I need one more favor from you,” the Jarl said. “Morthal is still in danger. The journal mentions Movarth, a master vampire I thought was destroyed a century ago. I’ll gather together some able-bodied warriors to clean out Movarth’s lair.”

Aslfur dashed off before I could so much as blink.

“They’ll be waiting outside for you to lead them,” she concluded.

“Great,” I said. “At least it’s day time.”

“Movarth is in a cave,” she added, “so he may not be asleep.”

“Right.” I turned and strolled on out, almost not surprised to see a mob of angry townsfolk gathered up and starting their journey to wherever it was we were going. “This’ll be loads of fun,” I said to Serana.

“Bets on them all getting cold feet once we’re there?” she said.

“That’s a sucker bet and you know it,” I retorted, following behind the mob at a light jog. They led us off along a barely-there path through the marsh and eventually to a cave mouth. Serana and I drifted to a stop, preparing to go in, and that’s when it started. The doubts, the second thoughts, the slow creeping away. . . . Only the husband from the night before stayed, Thonnir.

“Look,” I said. “I can see you’re quite brave, but why don’t you let us handle this. If you really want to come inside, I won’t stop you, but it might not hurt for there to be someone just outside in case one of them tries to flee. The sunlight should weaken them if any do,” I said, glancing up at the sky.

“No, I—I’ll guard the entrance,” he said.

“All right,” I said, preferring that he did stay outside. If one of the targets inside the cave should happen to point out that Serana and I were both vampires ourselves, well, Thonnir might have ended up a wee bit confused and attacked one or both of us. His death would be unfortunate.

We were in there for a bit, picking them off one by one. Thralls, vampires, and, of course, the master vampire himself. I found it rather amusing how confident he was. I expect he had no clue what he was up against. He died, naturally. I ducked out long enough to bring Thonnir in. “I wanted you to see and know that they’re gone. If there were any of them elsewhere, well, I don’t know about that, but all the ones here are dead.”

Thonnir nodded as he gazed around, taking in the great splashes and pools of blood surrounding the corpses. “Aye. Time to go back, then.”

When I went to update Jarl Idgrod she first confessed that she had not expected me to be capable of the job, but thanked me nevertheless. I just loved those backhanded compliments. She then offered to make me a Thane of Hjaalmarch, but I would first need to help her people and make a name for myself.

‘Same old song and dance,’ I thought, and nodded. Apparently, saving the entire hold capital wasn’t quite enough for a fancy title. With that I was dismissed, not unkindly, and I headed back out into town. “It’s interesting,” I said quietly to Serana when she rejoined me.

“What do you mean?”

I headed toward the apothecary. “When I helped out here, saving the town—not without your equal effort, of course—the Jarl offered to make me a Thane if I became more well known in her hold.”

Serana shook her head. “What’s so odd about that? I mean, I wouldn’t want it, but. . . .”

“It’s interesting because Erandur and I saved Dawnstar from that Daedric artifact, and the Jarl there more or less said thanks and piss off. I kind of wonder if it has anything to do with Dawnstar being aligned with the Stormcloaks. Except that Winterhold is, too, and Jarl Korir practically threw the title at me after I fetched that helm for him.” I shrugged and opened the door to the Thaumaturgist’s Hut.

I found some things I wanted and began to haggle with Lami. After settling a price I counted out the coins for her and handed them over. “How long have you been an alchemist?” I asked. Most people liked to be asked things like that.

“Oh, I started learning years ago,” she said, then got a wistful look on her face. “My mentor had a book, _Song of the Alchemist_ , that I began learning from. I miss having access to it.”

My brow furrowed as I did a mental inventory of my current hoard of books. “Hm. I have an extra copy of that, actually.”

“You do?” Lami perked right up and smiled widely. “Would you be willing to part with it? I can teach you a bit about alchemy in exchange.”

“Sure. Let me go get it,” I said. “And pack this stuff away.” A short time later I had returned and made the exchange, then left again to poke around town. It wasn’t exactly that I was wanting to be a Thane of Hjaalmarch, I was just in one of those moods again.

I was chopping wood to give Thonnir a hand when Hroggar wandered by and mentioned that he would be happy to buy firewood. He stood there, staring off into the distance, then turned to me and quite nearly snarled, “You dare speak to me after all you’ve done?”

I gave Serana a look and started to wonder just exactly what sort of shape his mind was in. A few minutes later he spoke again, that time to thank me for freeing him from Alva’s mind control. ‘Poor guy,’ I thought. ‘It’s going to take some time for him to recover from all of this.’

He wandered off again before I was done chopping and I sold what I’d cut to Thonnir, then managed to get myself into a brawl with a fellow named Benor. Somehow that counted as helping one of the people of Hjaalmarch, as I later found out. Benor told me, after I had beat the stuffing out of him, that if I ever needed help he would be happy to travel with me.

“No offense,” I muttered to Serana, “but I really don’t understand you Nords at times. You and your mother are very sensible when it comes to magic, but maybe it’s because you were using it before all the horrifying events happened that people started blaming mages for—without real cause, naturally.”

“At least getting into a fist fight with a Nord as bonding is more palatable than an Altmer thinking they’re one step away from divinity if only every other race would just up and die already,” she replied.

“True, very true,” I said with a laugh. “Hang on, let me go see if there was anything else the Jarl wanted before we think about heading out.” Apparently gossip traveled just as fast within a community as between them as Jarl Idgrod had proclaimed me a Thane even before I opened my mouth, and then she presented me with a housecarl.

I was more than a little confused by that, I admit. I had just been given a person. I smiled and nodded, then motioned to the housecarl—Valdimar—and headed outside. She had also told me I could purchase a plot of land to build a home for myself, but I wasn’t all that interested, not with having been found worthy of Elysium, and not with having quarters at the College.

Serana took one look at him and started shaking her head. “Mm, I think I’m going to head back to the house for now,” she said. “Give you a chance to figure this one out.”

I stared after her as she strode away. I could have used her help, here! ‘Right,’ I thought. ‘She’s being a bit weird again.’ I continued on to the Moorside Inn and bespoke rooms, then found an empty table to sit at. When Valdimar hovered instead of taking a seat I gestured him into one. He was a real looker, too, though obviously not a young man. “Enlighten me, because the last time I was made a Thane I wasn’t—there was no housecarl involved, so this is a surprise to me. Housecarls are a kind of bodyguard?”

“Yes, my Thane,” he said. “I am sworn to carry your burdens and defend your life and property.”

“Okay,” I said, a bit uneasily. “How does that even work? I mean, you wake up one day and decide, ‘I’d like to be a housecarl,’ then apply with the Jarl so the next person to randomly come along and get named Thane. . . .” I fluttered my hand around.

“It is a bit more involved than that, but in some ways, yes,” he said. “For you, Jarl Idgrod chose someone who was comfortable with magic, as she knows you are a mage.”

I raised a brow at that. Either the gossips had made sure it was known, or the whispers of the Jarl having visions was more truth than fiction and she may have seen something. “So you’re comfortable with mages.”

“Yes, my Thane. I use some Alteration spells myself, mostly armor.”

“Oh. All right, then. Er, this may come across as impolite, but most Nords are really touchy or dismissive or downright hostile when it comes to magic.”

It was not a question in any form, but he obviously understood what I was getting at, and smiled faintly. “It is a tool, just like a blade, or a hauberk, or a hoe.”

Good enough, I supposed. I had no idea about any other Thanes of Hjaalmarch, but I knew I had helped with a serious problem (in addition to a few far more mundane tasks), so Valdimar should be satisfied that his new Thane was not a puffed up popinjay. “All right. I’ve got a bounty to see about, so we can set out in the morning. I’ve already gotten us rooms here. Go ahead and gather up anything you want or need this evening.”

###### Frostfall, 25th, 4E 201

I would have to keep reminding myself that Valdimar had not my senses. We were crossing a bridge when I realized something was nearby—that characteristic sound of a mudcrab trying to creep up—and I had killed it before Valdimar even knew anything was amiss.

“How did you even know it was there?” he asked.

I just smiled at him and continued on. Eventually I came across a place I recognized well enough. I had been by this crabber’s shanty more than once already. Robber’s Gorge was a simple enough deal and Valdimar did well, though had had a strange habit of recasting his mage armor way more often than necessary.

On the way back to Morthal I spotted a ruin and decided to go in. One battle with bandits wasn’t much to go on when it came to evaluating my housecarl, though he did peg that slaughterfish with pinpoint accuracy.

“Okay, this is interesting,” I said, watching as a ghostly bard walked off through a gated archway. Once the spectre disappeared I stepped forward and eyed the ruby claw key sitting on what looked to be a pressure plate plinth. Then I looked around for any napping draugr and quietly pointed them out to Valdimar. I indicated for him to go right, and then turned and started sending fire at the two on the left.

Once they were crispy I grabbed the claw and watched in satisfaction as the gate slid up. The ghost was waiting once we passed through, and walked off when I got close enough. A winding path led to a chain and a blocked door. The bard was on the other side and walked forward, through another blocked door. I could see, though, more of those to either side of me. I suspected another “clever” Nord puzzle.

I pulled the only chain I could find, there being nothing else of obvious interest. The doors rotated and opened the way the bard took, though we had to use a circuitous route to manage it. “Of course, spiders,” I muttered when two of the large ones dropped down from above. They were easily enough killed, but I honestly wondered how it was they could thrive so well in a tomb. Were there really that many inept adventurers? I didn’t really think spiders could get much nutrition from the desiccated corpses of Nords long since dead, after all.

There were two circular grates in the floor, each bisected in the manner of doors, and a single chain. No other exits. I suspected, rightly, that the chain would drop at least one of them open, the one that led down to a deep well of water. “I hope you can swim,” I said to Valdimar, then jumped. My housecarl had very nice legs, I noticed, coming up from the bottom of the well as he landed in the water.

The bard showed up again, and skeevers, and draugr, and various traps. I got to dodge some swinging blades that I shut down so Valdimar could get through—again, he just didn’t have the speed to handle things like them. The bard again, headed to the right, but there was a door directly ahead that glowed with magic.

I ignored the door for the moment and followed the ghost. After picking the lock on the door in my way I saw the remains of a room, the ceiling caved in. The bard was sitting there on the rubble, looking down at a skeleton and holding his hand over a book or journal. As soon as I picked it up the ghost disappeared. There was a song or poetry written in it, but age and damage had blotted much of the ink and ruined entire passages, but I could see it was about Olaf One-Eye.

Back at the sealed door the ghost reappeared and removed the barrier, then brandished an ethereal sword and raced onward. We followed, though I felt that following a spirit around was somehow a bit dodgy, and eventually ended up at the door which required the claw key. The bard was waving his sword around some more. “So,” I said, “what are the odds that we’re about to enter a room with the spectre of this Olaf One-Eye person?” Valdimar made a weird noise so I turned to look at him inquiringly.

“Olaf One-Eye was a king, my Thane. He was famous for trapping the dragon Numinex at Dragonsreach.”

“Right,” I said. “Our friend here is very uncomplimentary about this Olaf person. Called him a betrayer, thief, and a liar. I do believe he has a longstanding grudge to settle.”

“Fight? A former High King of Skyrim, my Thane?” Valdimar said, looking scandalized.

I considered asking him to use my name instead of a title, except it would likely make him feel even more uncomfortable than he already was. “You can stay out here if you prefer. It makes no difference to me. But consider this, before you decide. According to everything I’ve read so far, most draugr were followers of dragon priests back when, which means they worshiped dragons. There are some who guarded nobility. There are some who were purposely made that way as a punishment by other Nords, as I’ve recently experienced personally. If we go through that door and find a draugr version of this King Olaf, what does that tell you? Either way, if you come or wait here, I’m not going to judge your decision.”

I waited patiently. The bard waited impatiently. Valdimar eventually nodded at the door, so I opened it with the key and pressed on. There was a coffin ahead and up some stairs in a position generally reserved for someone important, but there were also the usual draugr scattered around prior to that—the first line of defense, if you will—all on throne-like chairs, perhaps twenty of them. The bard ran in, yelling some silent war cry, and diverted his attention from Olaf’s tomb once the first of the draugr rose.

Really, I was getting jaded. The bard bade Olaf to rise after the majority of the draugr were defeated, and the former king popped up, as a draugr, and Valdimar just shook his head before refreshing his mage armor and wading on in. I gleefully summoned another atronach and threw fire around. Draugr were so deliciously weak to it, generally speaking. I was delighted to see that there was a word wall back there, but it could wait a little.

When it was over I paused in my advance on the wall when I saw the bard move over to a door up there to the left. He faced us, pulled out his spectral lute, and started to play. There was no sound, just a blossom of warm light, and then he was gone. I could only think he’d been waiting all this time for someone to come along and discover what had happened to him, and to help him get his revenge.

Olaf’s corpse had a key. The word wall gave: Wuld—Whirlwind.

The key opened that door to the left and revealed a treasure room, which I promptly looted, and also a lever which opened a secret passageway providing a shortcut back to near the beginning of the barrow.

We made it back to Morthal in decent enough time and I collected the bounty, but it was getting late so we’d stay the night in town. Solitude might well have things of interest, but I was having trouble imagining the Jarl there needing to post bounties. On the other hand, the soldiers were there for the war, not the hold specifically.


	13. 3.2 Interlude

19042015-20042015

## 3.2

###### Frostfall, 26th, 4E 201

“Does this happen often?” Valdimar asked.

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “All the damn time. It’s usually assassins from the Dark Brotherhood, though. A cultist of Boethiah? That’s new.”

“Assassins?”

“Mm. I have no idea who I pissed off. Well, maybe the Thalmor, in a roundabout way.”

Valdimar frowned. “How would you have managed that? I cannot imagine you just burning any Thalmor you came across.”

“Doesn’t mean I haven’t considered it,” I muttered, then said, “No, but there was a Thalmor adviser to the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, and he found me troublesome. Even sent one of his lackeys to kill me. I suppose it’s possible that his reports back might have something to do with the assassins, but I honestly have problems seeing one of the Thalmor performing the Black Sacrament. If that truly were it I would expect actual Thalmor to track me down. It’s not as though they’ve bothered the College itself. I think they might be too embarrassed by how badly Ancano messed up.”

Passing through Dragon Bridge netted me another sweet roll for my collection—I would have to swing by Elysium at some point to drop off the ones I had—and entering Solitude some time later landed us right at the beginning of a public execution. How fun.

I edged my way along behind the crowd. The gentleman up on display was named Roggvir; he was to be beheaded for the crime of opening the gates of Solitude so that Jarl Ulfric could escape after his challenge-murder of High King Torygg. “Do they normally wait so long?” I asked Valdimar quietly.

Valdimar just shrugged lightly. No help there. I waited through the “event”, until people started going back to their daily business—no sense trying to shop if the shopkeepers were all watching the spectacle—and then started poking around. Before I knew it I had agreed to take care of a half dozen errands for people, and had managed, during a visit to the Blue Palace, to agree to check out some cave Queen Potema used to use for necromancy.

Some of those errands were simple enough to manage right there in the city, but a couple would have to wait until morning, at least. At the inn some fellow from Hammerfell, Jawanan or something, said he’d come to Solitude to visit, but stayed to learn fletching. But more interestingly, he mentioned during the course of our conversation a place called Volskygge and claimed it had a wall that chanted in the ancient dragon tongue.

Oddly, right after he said that, the in-house bard decided to sing _The Dragonborn Comes_.

###### Frostfall, 27th, 4E 201

I noticed another mercenary on my way out, Belrand, a spellsword. I had no need for him, but I’d keep him in mind. Besides, he wasn’t the eye candy my housecarl was, even though he was obviously younger.

###### Frostfall, 28th, 4E 201

It took most of the day to clear out Broken Oar Grotto and to investigate Wolfskull Cave. We didn’t get back to Solitude until well after dark. After a decent bit of sleep I could put on those poncy clothes from Radiant Raiment and parade them around in front of the Jarl.

I was practically run down on my way to the palace by a madman who barraged me with words until I somehow agreed to find his master for him. How a damn hipbone was involved I just didn’t know. I walked quickly to the palace, hoping not to be waylaid again, and went upstairs to speak with Falk about a key to the east wing.

“Absolutely not,” he said sternly. “That wing has been sealed for hundreds of years, and for good reason. They say the ghost of Pelagius the Mad still haunts it. Ghost or not, there are reminders of his dark rule that are best left buried away.”

I arched a brow at him. “Falk, I have gone up against a bunch of necromancers aiming to resurrect Potema and bind her to their will. I think I can handle myself in there.” And with the suspicions I had, I was damn curious.

Falk sighed and scrubbed at his beard, then fished a key from his pocket. “I’ll make an exception for you, but do not bring anything out when you leave,” he said, handing it over. “Too many dark deeds transpired in those halls.”

I nodded and made sure to catch Jarl Elisef’s eye. She commented on my finery, I commented on the wonderful selection to be had at Radiant Raiment, and she immediately began making plans to order some gowns from them. With that out of the way I headed for the door to the east wing. “Valdimar, wait here for me.”

He looked upset, but said, “Yes, my Thane.”

Inside I quickly got out of those horrid clothes and back into my usual, then set about exploring. The place was brimming with silver plates and platters and goblets I would not be taking (which would have been later melted down into ingots), cobwebs galore, and chairs stacked atop tables. There was a door to my immediate right, boarded up, and far too much trouble to try to get open.

Up some stairs was a long hallway. I had yet to see anything like a haunting, overtly evil, or even that crazed man’s master. Halfway down I took a step into a clearing, saw a table set with all the usual things, and food, and there were two men seated opposite each other, speaking. I also realized I was clothed in more poncy finery, which included a damn hat. Even worse, I realized I could not remove any of it, nor could I find any weapons, prepare spells. . . .

“More tea, Pelly my dear?” asked the rather handsome Breton man dressed in dual colours. You know, the man anyone with a spot of learning would recognize as Sheogorath.

“Oh, I couldn’t. Goes right through me. Besides, I have so many things to do. So many undesirables to contend with. Naysayers. Buffoons. Detractors. Why, my headsman hasn’t slept in three days!”

“You are far too hard on yourself, my dear, sweet, homicidally insane Pelagius. What would the people do without you?”

‘Live?’ I wondered. ‘Has he spent all his death executing phantoms of the mind? Or does he not realize he’s dead?’

“Dance? Sing? Smile? Grow old? You are the best Septim that’s ever ruled. Well, except for that Martin fellow, but he turned into a dragon god, and that’s hardly sporting. You know, I was there for the whole sordid affair. Marvelous time! Butterflies, blood, a Fox, a severed head. . . . Oh, and the cheese! To die for.”

“Yes, yes, as you’ve said, countless times before.”

Sheogorath made a rude sound. “Well then, if you’re going to be like that. . . . Perhaps it’s best I take my leave. A good day to you, sir. I said good day!”

“Yes, yes, go. Leave me to my ceaseless responsibilities and burdens. . . .”

Pelagius vanished from the table and Sheogorath turned his attention to me. “How rude! Can’t be bothered to host an old friend for a decade or two. Did you know about Pelagius’s decree? On his deathbed—oh, and this was inspired—he forbade . . . death! That’s right! Death! Outlawed!”

“What an optimist,” I said dryly. “I was asked to deliver you a message.”

Sheogorath sounded excited when he said, “Reeaaaallllyyyy? Ooh, ooh, what kind of message? A song? A summons? Wait, I know! A death threat written on the back of an Argonian concubine! Those are my favorites. Well? Spit it out, mortal. I haven’t got an eternity! Actually . . . I do. Little joke. But seriously. What’s the message.”

“To ask you to return from your vacation. He was ridiculously persuasive, too, or maybe I just got tired of listening to him beg and said yes to shut him up.”

Sheogorath got out of his chair to pace, and started muttering to himself, speculating. “Was it Molag? No, no. Little Tim, the toymaker’s son? The ghost of King Lysandus? Or was it. . . . Yes! Stanley, the talking grapefruit from Passwall.” He glanced at me. “Wrong on all accounts, aren’t I? Ha! No matter! Honestly, I don’t want to know. Why ruin the surprise. But more to the point. Do you—a tiny, puny, expendable little mortal—actually think you can convince me to leave? Because that’s . . . crazy. You do realize who you’re dealing with here?”

“Who else would take a holiday with a deceased mad emperor but Lord Sheogorath?” I replied.

“Excellent!” he said. “But leaving? Now that’s the real question, isn’t it. Because honestly, how much time off could a demented Daedra really need? So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to leave. That’s right. I’m done. Holiday . . . complete. Time to return to the hum drum day-to-day. On one condition. You have to find the way out first. Good luck with that.”

I furrowed my brow. “What’s the catch?”

“Ha! I do love it when the mortals know they’re being manipulated. Makes things infinitely more interesting.”

‘Like all those damn sweet rolls?’ I wondered.

“Care to take a look around? This is not, I dare say, the Solitude botanical gardens. Welcome to the deceptively verdant mind of the Emperor Pelagius III. That’s right! You’re in the head of a dead, homicidally insane monarch. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Can I still rely on my swords and spells and sneaking and all that nonsense? Sure, sure. Or . . . you could use . . . the Wabbajack! Huh? Huh? Didn’t see that coming, did you?”

Something inserted itself into my right hand and I glanced down to see a staff with a stylized cap bearing three faces. At least now I had something, though what it would be used for. . . .

Sheogorath reclaimed his chair and began muttering again, so I took a better look around. Mist was everywhere and clouding the distant view, but I could see three crude, square arches more or less equidistant around the clearing. With nothing better to do and no hints, I walked through the nearest one.

There were three trials: Paranoia, Confidence, and Night Terrors. None of them were all that difficult, even without being mad enough to get the proper “logic” of each challenge. When I was done I reported back to Sheogorath. I suppose I could have done so each time I handled one of the three trials, but I confess that didn’t occur to me until well after the fact. It might have been interesting to see what Sheogorath would have said.

“Heartless mortal that you are,” he said, “you’ve actually succeeded and survived. I am forced to honor my end of the bargain. So congratulations! You’re free to go! I . . . have been known to change my mind. So . . . go. Really.”

‘And how am I supposed to do that?’ I thought. ‘I have to rely on you transporting me, and preferably back to the Blue Palace.’

“Pelagius Septim III, once the Mad Emperor of Tamriel, now so boringly sane. I always knew he had it in him!” Sheogorath said, standing up again. “Well, I suppose it’s back to the Shivering Isles. The trouble Haskill can get into while I’m gone simply boggles the mind. Let’s make sure I’m not forgetting anything. Clothes? Check. Beard? Check! Luggage? Luggage! Now where did I leave my luggage?”

Some oddity like a Psijic Monk teleporting in occurred on the Pelagius side of the table and that madman appeared, the one who had badgered me into this “trip”.

“Master! You’ve taken me back! Does this mean we’re going home? Oh, happy times! I can’t wait to—”

“Yes, yes, that’s quite enough celebration,” Sheogorath interrupted. “Let’s send you ahead, shall we?”

The madman abruptly disappeared via that same kind of portal.

“And as for you, my little mortal minion,” Sheogorath said, “feel free to keep the Wabbajack. As a symbol of my. . . . Oh, just take the damn thing. You take care of yourself, now. And if you ever find yourself up in New Sheoth, do look me up. We can share a strawberry torte. Ta ta!”

A heartbeat later and I was back in the east wing of the palace. “I really think it’d be a wise idea to stay away from any other Daedric Lords,” I muttered. “The gods only know what happens to someone after death who was involved with more than one.” I didn’t count Molag Bal for my vampirism. I was infected with a disease, after all. It’s not like I had a personal audience.

I changed back into my proper clothing, tucking the finery from Sheogorath away carefully. I disliked it, but I would save it and put it on one of the mannequins at Elysium. I collected Valdimar and headed out. Two steps outside the palace another guard made that fatal comment. I did a little mental calculating as I tucked the sweet roll away and decided I had eight of them total.

I was tired, a bit weirded out, and had meant to swing down and stop in at Markarth, but no. I paid for a carriage ride to Whiterun instead.

###### Frostfall, 29th, 4E 201

I managed to pick up yet another sweet roll between the Whiterun stables and Elysium. Once we got home (and there was no issue with Valdimar entering the house) I had Valdimar help me unload Horse, then I showed him around the place, where he could sleep, that sort of thing. I also asked him to stay out of the loft. I say ask, but he took it as a command, which was fine.

On my rounds of the house I noticed that Valdimar slept with his eyes open. It was really creepy. I took a seat near the fire and thought about what to do next. I wanted to get back to Winterhold to check out what spells I might be able to acquire (I wanted an invisibility spell, if possible), but I also figured I should probably get back to Septimus with his lexicon.

My Restoration skill was lagging behind, to no surprise, but my Conjuration was almost as good as my skill at Illusion, Alteration, and Destruction, so I wasn’t unhappy with my progress. I had a favor for Jarl Elisif to do, though how she’d talked me into openly approaching a Shrine of Talos. . . . I had a letter to deliver to Danica from Idgrod the Younger. . . .

After I got some sleep, for we had arrived in the early hours of the morning, I told Valdimar to familiarize himself with the estate and took off. I found the shrine Elisif had spoken of and dropped off the warhorn, then immediately ducked off around a corner. Good thing, too, because I heard at least three people charge up, muttering about routing out Talos worshipers. 

‘I hope Elisif appreciates just what she asked for,’ I thought as I sneaked away. ‘Fancied up hypocrisy aside, I could have been caught and brought to the attention of the Thalmor again, except this time I might not have been able to fight my way out of it.’

I got distracted due to my manner of retreat and ended up at another Nordic tomb. I didn’t mind having a companion along, but sometimes it was just nice to wander alone and not have to worry about the competence of other people.

Inside was a recently deceased man, right there at the entrance. I couldn’t tell what killed him, but his journal was right there beside him. It appeared that the tomb was for Knevel, an ancient Tongue, and there were two ceremonial weapons somewhere within used as keys to open the way deeper in.

I wondered if what killed the adventurer was whatever just creaked behind me. There had been a skeleton back there on a throne-like chair, but it hadn’t reacted at all to my presence. Until, that is, I walked away and deeper inside. It went down just as easily as most animated skeletons did.

I found a ceremonial axe down one of the passageways, though I had to fight one of those shouty draugr for it. The damn thing managed to knock me back into a wall and disorient me for a few precious seconds. Back at the room down from the entrance there were additional options. The leftmost way led to a dead end, the second one to the axe. The center was blocked, so I chose the only way remaining.

I laughed myself silly when two draugr, one after the other, raced toward me with weapons raised, only to step on one of the trap stones and slam a spiked grating into their bodies. The first one died of it and the second was severely wounded. I was so busy laughing I almost didn’t cast any spells to finish the silly thing off. A ceremonial sword was at the end, after fighting off two draugr.

The axe and the sword fit into the huge double door down the central path and unlocked it. I could hear a word wall in the distance. It was all nothing particularly special in the end. The usual fight, multiple summons to assist, looting, and the word wall: Laas—Life.

###### Frostfall, 30th, 4E 201

I was made Thane of Haafingar, to no one’s surprise. I was also the owner of a house in Solitude—right next to Vittoria Vici, actually. My new housecarl, Jordis, was waiting for me at Proudspire Manor (though why the house was called that when there were no spires involved was beyond my ken).

I nipped down to the stables outside the city and made Blaise an offer. I had remembered him from a previous visit, and while he had a decent enough deal for his labor, I objected to the part where he slept outside in the hay. I hauled him back to Proudspire, introduced him to Jordis, and showed him a bed he could use.

I also gave him the same speech I did Lucia (which reminded me I should probably give her a real home, too, now that I had one I was willing to let a child into), though he was far more interested in joining the Legion when he got older. Still, Angeline Morraud was right there in town, willing to purchase alchemical ingredients, and it would be a pleasant way to earn spending money while outdoors, and not be taking care of a multitude of animals. There were also a lot of kids in the city, so he’d have people to play with.

Once things were settled I hired a carriage to take me to Winterhold. Horse was great, but he didn’t understand me when I said things like, “Go to Winterhold.”

###### Frostfall, 31st, 4E 201

‘Oh, wow,’ I thought. ‘I had no idea Onmund slept in the nude.’ I eyed him for a bit, carefully checked the area, then sneaked up to his bed and had a snack. I just couldn’t resist. Time to go see Septimus.

###### Sun’s Dusk, 1st, 4E 201

I gave Septimus his lexicon and he fiddled with it, then started babbling on about tricking the lockbox there, the massive Dwemer cube. He told me it needed the blood of a Dwemer, but of course they were all gone insofar as anyone knew. Septimus then told me if I could get him the blood of the elves still existing he could combine them and trick the cube. Just a little prick, he assured me.

And that was fine, to my thinking. I sampled any number of people along the way as it was. No, what really upset me happened when I was trying to leave with the device he entrusted to me. The entrance up top was blocked by this . . . thing. This thing of many eyes and writhing tentacles and putrid green and yellow brown. . . . Well, it was some avatar of Hermaeus Mora. I was informed that Septimus was fast outgrowing his usefulness and that once the cube was opened. . . .

I felt bad for the old man, I really did, but I had to wonder. Would it be better to forget about helping him open that thing and just let him die naturally? Or would it be better to help him as requested and know he would die at the hand—tentacle?—of a Daedric Lord? The same Daedric Lord who claimed he’d been watching me and wanted me as a replacement for Septimus as his emissary? Sheogorath was one thing. Perhaps he was nuttier than a squirrel’s winter cache, but he was a handsome enough Breton and didn’t make me want to throw up blood when I looked at him.

Back to the College to think.


	14. 4.1 Companions of Jorrvaskr

20042015

## 4.1

###### Sun’s Dusk, 2nd, 4E 201

Not long after I awoke Faralda arrived with a message. Said a courier had come from Whiterun. I thanked her and read through it. The Harbinger of the Companions, Kodlak Whitemane, had requested the assistance of the Arch-Mage in a private matter, or at least an interview with me to determine if what he wanted was even possible.

His wording was all very vague, but I saw no particular reason to ignore the request. The worst that would happen is we talked and what he wanted was completely outside of my experience and talents. But asking for the Arch-Mage? Magic of some kind was likely involved.

I let Faralda know I’d be away again—her mainly because she was the first high-ranked colleague I saw.

I realized, as I passed from the colder, snowy area of the north to the warmer and more inviting territory nearer to Whiterun, that I didn’t go much off the beaten path, even if I did sometimes get distracted and wander into caves or ruins. Perhaps whatever Kodlak wanted would afford an opportunity for a bit more than the usual.

It was just about dusk when I got to Whiterun, so I didn’t bother with Jorrvaskr just then. Instead I made the rounds of the shops and visited Farengar, then headed to Elysium for the night. I had decided it was time to start working on my skill with Enchanting.

###### Sun’s Dusk, 3rd, 4E 201

After I sold off my experiments from the evening previous I climbed the steps to Jorrvaskr and headed into the hall. Inside two people were brawling, throwing out the usual crude taunts, but I ignored that and instead approached a female warrior. I didn’t get too close and she was distracted, but she directed me down a set of stairs, said Kodlak would be at the very end.

The cellar ran the length of the building, an echo of the mead hall upstairs, though perhaps wider. No one seemed to care that a stranger was wandering around and I walked to the far end without being troubled. That is, until I got close enough to the doors and realized a conversation was going on within, one that was obviously meant to be private.

“But I still hear the call of the blood,” a man was saying, more or less telling me that indeed, these people—or some of them—were weres of some kind.

“We all do,” came a much older male voice—I assumed he was Kodlak. “It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome.”

“You have my brother and I, obviously. But I don’t know if the rest will go along quite so easily.”

‘So Kodlak, this one, his brother, the woman, plus at least one more, maybe two,’ I thought.

“Leave that to me,” said the older one.

I backed away, waited a few moments, then started forward again, taking care to make sound as I walked. I paused in the doorway, taking in an older man with white hair, sitting with a much younger one with dark hair. Typical Nord sorts, really. “My presence was requested by Harbinger Kodlak,” I said. “I am Yvara.”

Kodlak nodded and waved me forward, but when I got closer the other man jumped up and said, “You stay back, you bloodsucking fiend!”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Oh, I see subtlety and discretion are not amongst your strong points. Very clever of you to give away your own condition so unthinkingly. Not that it would matter. I was aware of what you all probably were before coming here. Now, I repeat: my presence was requested by Harbinger Kodlak.”

The old man nodded again and sent a reproachful look at the dark-haired man. “Vilkas,” he said warningly. To me he said, “Yes, I did. I am Kodlak Whitemane and I welcome you to Jorrvaskr. I have an interesting situation to discuss with you, if you’ll be so kind as to lend me some of your time.”

“Of course,” I replied, wondering if lycanthropy had been the result of interference by a Daedric Lord just as vampirism had its roots with Molag Bal. Judging by that conversation I had overheard I had to think some of them wanted to be cured? I knew very little about lycanthropy aside from that some were wolves, some were bears, some lived in Skyrim, some out on Solstheim, and so on.

Vilkas kicked up a fuss at that point, being really unreasonable, so I said, “Harbinger, please send me a message in care of the Bannered Mare with a more suitable time,” and left the way I’d come. I spent the rest of the day working on enchanting.

###### Sun’s Dusk, 4th, 4E 201

On my way out of town from another round of selling off the results of my enchanting efforts I was stopped by a courier near the gates. As I listened to the fellow tell me how it was a letter from Falk Firebeard at the Blue Palace in Solitude (I was unappreciative of having everyone in earshot know that when I could have easily just read it) I noticed that Vilkas (or someone who looked remarkably like him—his brother, perhaps) was standing nearby as if waiting to speak to me. I took the letter and shooed the courier away, then read it.

> #### Yvara,
> 
> Over the last few days we’ve had some disturbing information come to light regarding the events at Wolfskull Cave and the summoning and binding ritual you interrupted there.
> 
> Given your involvement with that event I’m asking you to return to Solitude to help us once more. I’m wary of putting all the details in print, please come see me at the Blue Palace.
> 
> #### Sincerely,  
>  Falk Firebeard

“Great,” I muttered. At least he hadn’t used my title. I continued on through the gates and realized that the lookalike was pacing me.

Just past the stables he said, “My brother isn’t always like that. I don’t really see what the problem is anyway. Kodlak wanted to see you, so that should be good enough.”

I gave him an appraising look. “So you don’t share his . . . prejudices.”

He shrugged. “We’ve all done things.”

Right. I wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with that, to be honest. “Well, I’m Yvara.”

“Oh, Farkas.”

I nodded. “So where are you off to? What little I’ve seen of the Companions is that you usually don’t go off in trips without at least one other.”

“I just wanted to get away for a bit, that’s all. Where are you headed?”

‘As if you didn’t know,’ I thought. “Well, I was going to stick around Whiterun for a while, but if I’m needed in Solitude I’ll just have to go there and find out why. Want to come along? It would certainly get you away for a bit.”

Farkas looked surprised at the offer, but nodded. “Let me just. . . .” He turned away and hailed one of the kids running around, then asked the boy to deliver a message. He slipped the kid a few coins for the trouble, then said, “All right, let’s go.”

I veered off to the carriage driver and told him Solitude, and handed over the fare for the two of us, then climbed aboard. We arrived after dark. Neither of us had said a whole lot during the trip and I was starving by the time we began walking up the road to the city gates. I fished a blood potion out and drank it down.

“Ah, that’s interesting,” Farkas commented. “I had wondered.”

I gave him a smile. “We have ways. There are more bandits in Skyrim than I could ever need,” I said, “and most all of them are stupid enough to attack or think to extort money or goods from me.”

“And you’re such a little thing,” he replied, nodding.

“Well, it’s late, so I’ll—oh, wait, I have a house here. Never mind. You can bunk down there for the night and I’ll see what Falk wants in the morning. No sense bothering him this late.”

“I, uh. . . .”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” I said. “The place is big enough and the only ones there are one of my housecarls and my sort of adopted son. I keep meaning to get him a sister. Maybe Lucia in Whiterun. Damn it, I should have asked before we left.”

“What?”

I ignored that and led him to the house, heaving a sigh once inside. “Jordis!” I called out.

She appeared from around a corner. “What do you need, my Thane?”

“Please set up one of the spare beds for my friend here for the night.”

“Yes, my Thane. And if you’re hungry there’s a stew keeping warm in the kitchen.”

She trundled off so I led Farkas to the “kitchen”—which was a fancy way of saying one wall where a cooking hearth and spit was installed—and told him to help himself. Blaise showed up then, excited to see his benefactor and asking for an allowance.

I eyed him. “And have you been doing as I suggested?”

“Yes,” he said a bit sulkily, “though some of the kids think it’s silly for me to gather up all those flowers and things.”

“Eh, maybe,” I replied. “But you’re learning to be self-sufficient. Possibly a trade. I know you want to grow up and join the Legion, but that’s a long time away and I don’t know anyone right now who could train you with a blade. Soldiers need to know more than just how to hack people down. Like hunting, preparing game, cooking, stuff like that, in case you’re out on patrol and having to live in tents and off the land. Still, here’s ten septims, because you have actually been trying. Now it’s late, so get to bed!”

###### Sun’s Dusk, 5th, 4E 201

After breakfast—more for Farkas’s sake than mine—we headed to the Blue Palace.

“Yes, old friend,” Falk said once I’d caught his eye and he joined me. “I’m afraid it’s not good news. When you broke up the binding Potema escaped. We’ve encountered some of her minions. Styrr says she’s still in spirit form or we’d all be dead already. You’ve already done us a great service in stopping the binding, but I need you to go talk to him, to see if Styrr can tell us what to do next. He’s Solitude’s priest of Arkay and the one who figured out Potema was still around.”

“All right,” I said quietly. “Did you choose me because I can obviously be trusted not to gossip about what happened, or for some other reason?”

Falk chuckled. “Well, that part never hurts. But no, it was Styrr who suggested you. He seems to think you have some sort of link to Potema from being involved last time. I trust his judgment on this. As a priest of Arkay he’s had to deal with necromancy before. Nothing as dangerous as Potema, though.”

“Okay, I’ll go talk to him.”

“I wish you well, friend. Be careful.”

I walked away, knowing that Farkas would have heard all of it, and knowing he could keep a secret. He might not come across as the brightest of fellows, but he was absolutely not stupid, and certainly understood discretion. He rejoined me once I was down the stairs, and waited until we were back outside and away from anyone else to whisper, “Wolf Queen Potema?”

“Yes,” I said quietly, keeping an eye out for others as we walked. “Some fellow was here the first time I wandered into the palace, going on about strange doings at this cave near Solitude. He was really upset about it. The Jarl wanted to send a regiment, but Falk talked her down to a lot less than that. Anyway, it didn’t look to me as if they were going to take the guy at all seriously, and I was curious, so I offered to go look. Next thing I know I’m in the middle of a damn ritual trying to bring Potema back. And get this, the necromancers thought they could bind her to their will. I pretty much killed everyone involved and reported back to Falk, thinking that was the end of it.”

“By yourself?” he whispered.

“Mm. Besides, I can conjure help.”

“You must be the one Falk spoke so highly of,” Styrr said when we tracked him down. “Welcome.”

I nodded. “Yes, Falk sent me a letter, asked me to come help.”

“Ah, Potema. Former queen of Solitude and one of the most dangerous necromancers in recorded history. I believe I have a book about her. . . .”

To get him back on track I said, “Falk said you thought she wasn’t entirely gone.”

“Summoned in spirit form is not raised from the dead. She’ll need help before she can return to the living. For the moment, the Wolf Queen has retreated to a place filled with dead eager to serve her. She has gone to her old Catacombs. A few days ago, one of her servants busted through a wall into the Temple of Divines. We’ll need you to go into the Catacombs themselves.”

“Right.”

“I can provide you with help for her minions, though. This should help you deal with the Catacombs themselves,” Styrr said, then handed me a spell tome for Turn Undead, as well as a key. “As to Potema herself, find what’s left of her body, likely a skeleton. Remove it from the Catacombs and bring it back to be sanctified by Arkay. Taking on Potema won’t be easy. But you are the one to do it.”

I very nearly rolled my eyes at Styrr, but turned away and exited with Farkas in tow. “Honestly,” I muttered. “I can see it now. Ahtar will catch me dragging a skeleton from the Temple of Divines to the Hall of the Dead and arrest me for grave robbing.”

Farkas’s shoulders started shaking, so I knew he was laughing.

We eventually navigated the somewhat confusing layout of the temple and found the locked gate below. Before I went in I turned and said, “You don’t have to come with me. If you prefer you can wait at my house or the Winking Skeever and I’ll meet back up with you afterward.”

“No, no,” he said. “I’m interested. Let’s go.”

So we did. I unlocked the gate and pushed through. Up ahead was a place where the wall had been broken through, the blocks it was constructed of pushed out, so we ducked through it. They were called catacombs, but what we initially walked into was just another part of the temple undercroft. I expected that would change soon. Light filtered in through the high, narrow windows and there still tables and cups and plates scattered around, rather like I had encountered in the palace’s east wing.

“Are you going to use that book he gave you?” Farkas asked.

“No. Only if I’m desperate enough for some reason,” I said. “I think the dead should stay dead. Causing them to flee might give a person a little breathing room, but the best thing to do is put them down again.”

We came to a barred archway with a relief of Potema, dressed as the Wolf Queen, on the wall. She spoke to me. “You’ve arrived at last. The heroine who prevented me from being bound returns to my fold. I have much to thank you for, little one. When you die I will raise you and you can take your place by my side.” With that, the bars blocking the way slid down.

“She has a lovely voice,” I said to Farkas, “but I think I’ll pass on the enslavement part.”

We carried on until we were presented with a lever and one of those rotating doors. It was stopped in a non-viable position so I pulled the lever and set it going, then slipped through when the position was right and the bars slid open to let me through. Farther on was the same sort of setup, except this time the doors were already rotating. Doors, because there were three levers all in a row and I could see a door behind the first one. I could have timed it so I moved the corresponding lever at just the right moment to stop a door when it was positioned correctly and open.

“I don’t have the patience for this,” I said. “I’m going to just walk through each one and wait between them as necessary.” And I did. Farkas and I emerged unscathed on the other side.

“Huh, I expected draugr, but not vampires,” I said after frying one who threatened to add me to Potema’s army of undead. “Are you immune to that or do I need to find some potions?”

Farkas shook his head as a draugr at the far end of the room rose from its chair. “I’ll be fine. They can’t infect me.”

“All right. Let’s push on then,” I replied.

“You’re pretty handy with that magic,” he commented after watching me fry several draugr from across the room.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about learning how to use a blade properly, but my first inclination will always be to kill it with fire.”

“That thing, on the other hand, is downright creepy,” he said a few minutes later, referring to my lich summon.

“Ah, he’s fine, though I wish he didn’t sound like one of those foxes. You know, they all sound like they have breathing problems. I could summon the usual atronachs, but some people are creeped out by those as well since they’re technically a type of Daedra. The same applies to any weapons I summon.”

“Huh.”

Then I spotted the skeevy bastard. “Deathlord,” I said. “Be careful!”

A circular room presented itself after I opened a door a ways along; it was filled with corpses. I stepped back and said, “I don’t like the looks of this. I think Potema will raise any and all of them to try to kill us, so be on your guard.”

I ended up being a little too busy fighting to take in what Potema said that time, but I assumed it was more of the same drivel. Once they were put down again we continued on, eventually coming to a long room ringed with sarcophagi on varying levels. There was a door at the end, water at the bottommost part of the floor, and an orb of light hanging overhead, radiating purplish light.

“You’ve come far, mortal, but can you stand against my inner council? Let’s see!” cried that orb.

Then the first wave of draugr awoke. Each wave that we took down seemed to weaken Potema’s spirit form. Magic cast against it directly also seemed to help, but it was fairly hectic already. On top of that the orb had begun rotating up there, sending out a sweep of lightning that to me barely tickled. It was a blood bath in there, with very little actual blood.

Only once I was certain Farkas was ready to move on did I approach the door the orb had retreated through. It opened of its own accord and revealed steps up to a throne with a glowing blue figure seated on it: Potema.

It rose.

“Did that bitch just Shout at me?” I asked in disbelief.

Then we attacked. Between me, Farkas, and my lich we held off the minions she raised and took her down. Not an easy thing considering how small the room was. The only remains I could find was a skull, so I grabbed that, and looted whatever looked interesting. The exit back there led to a ledge or overlook halfway up the rock. I could see a ship below so I assumed we were above and off to the side from the docks. It took a careful bit of scrambling to get down to the road.

It turned out we were closer to the lighthouse, but that was all right. Our fun outing had taken up most of the day. I used the shortcut up into the city and headed for the Hall of the Dead.

“You’ve returned,” he said on having seen me. “I’m hoping successfully.”

I made a noncommittal sound and handed over the skull. “This was all I could find.”

“Excellent! These things do have a way of working out when people take action. I’ll sanctify the remains. In case Falk doesn’t make it clear—Solitude owes you a debt of gratitude.”

Falk said, after I sidled up to him at the palace, “You’ve done a great thing, today. It doesn’t matter who you support in the war; Potema would have been a blight on the land for both sides. Without you this would have been a disaster. I should have paid more heed to Varnius’s warnings. I won’t make that mistake again. Take this payment—the Jarl would thank you, but she very much wants to keep Potema’s return quiet. Make no mistake we consider you a protector of Solitude.”

Farkas did not have a problem staying another night when I brought it up, nor did he refuse when I handed him half the reward money.

###### Sun’s Dusk, 6th, 4E 201

We set off the next morning back to Whiterun. Farkas said, once we were beyond the gates, “All right if we walk? Sitting in a carriage for so long makes me restless, and I’m still a bit restless.”

“Sure. Not a problem,” I replied, so we bypassed the carriage near the stables and kept on walking.

“So what’s all this about Blaise?” he asked.

“Eh, I found him working at the stables. He’s an orphan. He tended to the animals and they fed him, but his bed was straw in the stables themselves, so not very good, really, but a whole lot better than begging and sleeping on the streets. Still, once I got the house here I made him an offer. He calls me his mother now, but we both know it’s really not that relationship. I’m just giving him a leg up, you know? Giving him a better start. Jordis keeps an eye on him.”

“And Lucia?”

“Same thing, really. Gave her the same speech. But now that I’ve got that house I don’t see why she couldn’t fit in, too. It’s unfortunate that no one’s been able to take her in, but I guess too many people are caught up in the war.”

“Speaking of that,” he said, “Falk mentioned it.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m not on either side, really. I’m not much for politics. The one would likely deport me and the other has fallen a long way since the Septims.” I fell silent when I saw people up ahead. It was a trio of Thalmor with a prisoner.

When they were long gone Farkas brought up something that Vilkas seemed to have overlooked or ignored—that I was the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold.

“Yes, though I don’t know that I necessarily deserve it,” I replied. “I mean, at the time I was barely adept in most of the schools of magic. I’ve been working on them as I go along, of course, but at the time. . . . I think the trainers at the College didn’t disagree because some of them weren’t too enthusiastic about the previous Arch-Mage, and because a new outlook on things might help in the long run. Right now I stop in most every time I make the rounds and keep learning how to handle things there, but right now the running of the College is left to the trainers and teachers.”

“How did you even get the position?”

“Well. . . .”

###### Sun’s Dusk, 7th, 4E 201

We got back to Whiterun about mid-morning and I accompanied Farkas up to Jorrvaskr, but did not actually climb the steps myself. I thanked him for the company and bade him goodbye, then went off on my own. I tracked down Lucia and made my offer. She was thrilled, so I had her get whatever things she owned and headed for the stables.

A guard told me as we passed by, “You’ve been seen in the company of the Companions. That’s an honorable path you’re on, friend.”

I nodded and kept going. The guards obviously had way too much free time to spin the odd visit and walking next to a Companion into me being terribly friendly with all of them. Shortly thereafter Lucia and I were taking a carriage to Solitude.

###### Sun’s Dusk, 10th, 4E 201

I ended up in Riften. Getting distracted while wandering will do that to a person. I also saw those idiots again, the ones heading to the wedding in Solitude, the wedding that Vittoria never can quite finish finalizing the details for. I rolled my eyes so hard I almost gave myself a headache.

Another fit of kindness came over me while I was shopping and I agreed to run a half dozen errands or so. I would say it was the drink, but I didn’t even have any until after the fact, when I stopped in at the Bee and Barb to rent a room for the night.

Brynjolf was at his stall in the marketplace, still trying to sell his “Genuine Falmer Blood Elixir” to gullible passersby. “Make love like a sabre cat or crush your enemies to dust like a giant! Only a mere twenty gold coins and all this could be yours!” He was persuasive, yes, but I didn’t see where it was taking him. There were plenty of people listening and looking, but not purchasing—at least, not while I was paying attention. Well, Haelga. . . .

Marcurio kept trying to convince me to hire him so I switched seats and ordered some mead and wine from Talen-Jei. I did hear an interesting rumor, though, from one of the guards patrolling the city. She claimed that there was a face sculptor down in the Ragged Flagon (which, from what I was given to understand, was where the Thieves Guild was). That could be interesting, I supposed, assuming it was a “sculptor” and not a “butcher” as the guard assumed.

I’d seen some otherwise amazingly gorgeous faces spoiled when you saw them in profile, so I supposed I could understand the appeal this face sculptor might have. Then again, a face sculptor in a den of thieves? I supposed they might find that especially handy if they needed a new face to avoid any guards on their trails.

Brynjolf came in about an hour after I finished eating (food didn’t satisfy me the way blood did, but the taste was still fine) and took a seat near me. He told me, “You’re trying my patience, lass.”

I had no idea why this man thought I was the answer to his problems. If he was actually any good at what he did he could do the job personally, right? I closed my book and asked, “Do you trot that line out for all the new faces?”

He kind of smiled and said, “I took a chance on you because you spotted the scam at the gates. Most people are intimidated enough into handing over the ‘tax’.”

I snickered and offered him a bottle of mead. “Well, I guess most people haven’t traveled as much as I have, then, because I have never, ever been subjected to a shake down like that before at a city. I’d have to be a half-witted skeever to fall for that. Besides, if things are really as bad as I keep hearing people gossip about, why do you stay? Why go down with a sinking ship?”

“It’s more about the family, lass.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t know,” I replied. “Mine are long dead. See, I was a farmer, but then things happened, people died . . . and I eventually packed up and came to Skyrim for change of pace instead of sticking around to hoe potatoes and cabbages.”

“You like to wear mage robes, so. . . ?” he asked leadingly.

“So . . . logically I’m a mage?” I shot back. “I’m quite partial to the phrase, ‘Kill it with fire.’ ”

“And the eyes,” he said very quietly.

“Would you believe . . . my mother was a Dunmer?” I asked with a smile. This was sort of fun, actually. I was starting to like him.

He smirked and said, “Not on your life, lass.”

“It was worth a try,” I said and had a sip of wine. “So, you hang about all day in the marketplace selling, ah. . . .” I was trying to come up with a delicate way of saying it.

“The wares change from time to time,” he said.

I laughed quietly. “Whenever you come up with a more interesting name?”

“Something like that.”

“And you keep an eye out for your family, looking for good—skilled—people to add to it.”

“Mm.”

He obviously wasn’t willing to say too much to a veritable stranger, so I let it that line of inquiry drop. “Doesn’t sound like it gives you much time for other things, but I wish you luck on that front. So, let me tell you about a recent encounter I had with a mad king and his guest.”

Before I headed up for the evening, after a pleasant talk with Brynjolf about some of the sillier things I had come across in Skyrim, I said, “Let’s talk again next time I’m in town.”


	15. 4.2 Companions of Jorrvaskr

20042015

## 4.2

###### Sun’s Dusk, 11th, 4E 201

There was a message waiting for me when I checked in at the Bannered Mare, so I went to speak with Kodlak. Vilkas had obviously been talked down from his earlier aggression. I entered Jorrvaskr and did not see Kodlak, so I asked the nearest Companion about him. I was directed downstairs again, to his quarters. He was alone when he welcomed me in and gestured toward a seat.

After I was settled he said, “The Companions are nearly five thousand years old. This matter of beastblood has only troubled us for a few hundred. One of my predecessors was a good, but short-sighted man. He made a bargain with the witches of Glenmoril Coven. If the Companions would hunt in the name of their lord, Hircine, we would be granted great power.”

“So some of you became werewolves.”

“Yes. They did not believe the change would be permanent. The witches offered payment, like anyone else. But we had been deceived. The witches didn’t lie, of course. But the disease, you see, affects not just our bodies. It seeps into the spirit. Upon death, werewolves are claimed by Hircine for his Hunting Grounds. For some, this is a paradise. They want nothing more than to chase prey with their master for eternity. And that is their choice. But I am still a true Nord. And I wish for Sovngarde as my spirit home.”

“So you asked for the Arch-Mage because you thought there might be a magical connection I could work with or exploit, to cure those who wished it.”

“That’s what I’ve spent my twilight years trying to find out, if there is a cure. I had asked Arch-Mage Aren previously and he was unwilling. I hoped that his successor would be more amenable.”

I quite nearly snorted at that information. Savos was too caught up in the guilt haunting his past to be of much use to anyone else, but it was certainly possible I was being entirely too unkind to his memory.

“And now I’ve found the answer. The witches’ magic ensnared us, and only their magic can release us. They won’t give it willingly, but we can extract their foul powers by force. I want you to seek them out. Go to their coven in the wilderness. Strike them down and bring me their heads, the seat of their abilities. From there, we may begin to undo centuries of impurity.”

I took a deep breath and exhaled. “I will go, yes. But I have never killed anyone who had not first attacked me. So, assuming they aren’t immediately hostile I will try to negotiate, though I admit it’s unlikely. I can try using magic to trick or force them into helping. But if nothing else works, well. I’ll cut off their damn heads and bring them back. But if that is what happens, how do you plan to use the heads?”

“There is a place where a sort of ritual can be done, involving the heads, one per afflicted person. Ysgramor’s Tomb.”

“All right. I’ll be back,” I said.

“Talos guide you, lass.”

###### Sun’s Dusk, 12th, 4E 201

Negotiation was . . . not possible. Nor persuasion, bribery, or threats. Only death. So, I walked away from their lovely little cave system carrying five witch heads. Ugh.

When I got back to Whiterun it was late, but I could at least leave a note at Jorrvaskr letting Kodlak know I had succeeded (one way or the other), either on the door leading into the living quarters, or with someone who was still awake.

Except that I learned, as I approached Jorrvaskr and saw the bodies, and various Companions outside itching for a fight, that something awful had happened. Aela—that woman who originally told me about the Companions even though I hadn’t bothered to help take down that giant and who obviously was blind to or didn’t care about me being a mage—informed me that the Silver Hand had attacked.

I had heard about them, a splinter group, but not of the Companions. There was a group called the Dawnguard for a long time, kind of an offshoot of the Vigilants of Stendarr. I found it all rather confusing, to be honest. But the Silver Hand was like an even more aggressive group, except they hunted weres instead of vampires.

Maybe I was mistaken, but I rather thought that there had been a lot of back and forth between the Companions and the Silver Hand, and it had finally escalated into this. Aela also told me that she knew about my errand for Kodlak, but that he was dead, killed during the attack.

###### Sun’s Dusk, 13th, 4E 201

Vilkas was determined to go wipe every last member of the Silver Hand out. I knew that Skjor had recently been killed (and I suspected it was due to the Silver Hand), and now Kodlak. . . . Well, it made me wonder which Companions had been Oblivion-bent on wiping them out up to that point, to push them into attacking in the middle of a city.

In any case, I decided to go with Vilkas. It wasn’t my responsibility, but he was planning to go alone. He seemed both furious and desolate, and that was never a good state to be fighting in. I found out along the way that he was . . . a bit unstable. Every time anything even remotely hostile showed up he would haul that greatsword of his into position and laugh, then yell, “I love a good challenge!”

###### Sun’s Dusk, 14th, 4E 201

I saw a headless ghost on a horse, flying. Not riding. Or, more accurately, it was as if someone had loaded said ghost and ghost horse into a catapult or trebuchet and launched them on a shallow trajectory.

Still, the job was done. Vilkas made sure that every last Silver Hand member in that place died. We also recovered the stolen fragments of Wuuthrad. Apparently the Companions had been tracking those down for ages and had finally gathered them all up, only to have the Silver Hand steal them during the attack. On a happier note, Vilkas seemed to gain at least a grudging respect for me and magic, though I sincerely doubted he would ever attempt to learn any for himself.

There would be a ceremony for Kodlak on our return. They would wait for Vilkas to be back, surely. On a less happy note, I was beginning to think that Vilkas hit his head pretty hard at some point in the last day or so, or that helm of his was ill-fitted. He suddenly yelled out, “Somebody help!”

I scanned around in a full circle and saw nothing out of the ordinary, and Vilkas was just standing there, relaxed, calm. . . . Right.

They were waiting when we returned. Kodlak’s body was on a pyre up at the Skyforge, where Eorlund Gray-Mane did forge work for the Companions. I made sure Eorlund got the fragments and prepared to give them some measure of privacy for the ceremony, but then Eorlund requested that someone go get the final fragment kept in Kodlak’s rooms.

The actual Companions all looked. . . . “I’ll get it,” I said to Eorlund quietly. “They all really need to be here.”

He nodded so I headed down the stairs and over into Jorrvaskr. I found the fragment in a table at his bedside and retrieved it. There was what looked like a journal, as well, but even I wasn’t that nosy.

The ceremony was in progress when I returned, so I just stood there quietly and waited, then gave the fragment to Eorlund when it was over. Apparently he intended to reforge Wuuthrad.

###### Sun’s Dusk, 15th, 4E 201

I returned to Jorrvaskr to speak to Farkas, but I found him speaking with Vilkas and Aela.

“The old man had one wish before he died,” Vilkas said. “And he didn’t get it. It’s as simple as that.”

“Being moon-born is not so much of a curse as you might think, Vilkas,” Aela replied.

“That’s fine for you. But he wanted to be clean. He wanted to meet Ysgramor and know the glories of Sovngarde. But all that was taken from him.”

“And you avenged him.”

“Kodlak did not care for vengeance.”

“No, Farkas, he didn’t,” Vilkas said. “And that’s not what this is about. We should be honoring Kodlak, no matter our own thoughts on the blood.”

Aela backed down at that point. “You’re right. It’s what he wanted, and he deserved to have it.”

Vilkas nodded. “Kodlak used to speak of a way to cleanse his soul, even in death. You know the legends of the Tomb of Ysgramor.”

“There the souls of the Harbingers will heed the call of northern steel,” Aela replied. “We can’t even enter the tomb without Wuuthrad, and it’s in pieces, like it has been for a thousand years.”

Kodlak could still be helped, even though he was dead, if we went to Ysgramor’s Tomb, and if Eorlund was able to successfully reforge Wuuthrad. Once I got Farkas alone I said, “If Eorlund manages it, let me know, all right? I have what Kodlak wanted, so I’ll need to go along.”

###### Sun’s Dusk, 22nd, 4E 201

Eorlund must be some kind of miracle worker. It took him a week, but he did it. And then we all set off for the tomb. Weres could run pretty damn fast so there was no real point in taking a carriage.

Once we got there and went inside Wuuthrad was placed into the hands of a statue of Ysgramor, which opened the way forward. But just to be safe (in case any surviving members of the Silver Hand had followed us) I removed Wuuthrad before we continued on.

Vilkas decided to stay behind. He told me, “Kodlak was right. I let vengeance rule my heart. I regret nothing of what we did at Driftshade. But I can’t go any further with my mind fogged or my heart grieved.”

I stared at him for a moment, nodded, and followed the others. His words were all very well, but I found his reasoning a bit specious. Ysgramor’s Tomb held not just Ysgramor’s resting place, but also that of many of his Companions. Their ghosts were there, on guard, stepping from the sarcophagi to attack us as we ventured deeper.

When we came to an area with spider eggs Farkas bowed out. While recovering a fragment of Wuuthrad from Dustman’s Cairn he had managed to develop a serious fear of giant spiders. I found it easier to believe that than what Vilkas had said, so I just squeezed his arm and nodded. “It’s fine.”

After he departed to keep Vilkas company I sighed, glanced at Aela, and kept on. I took great delight in burning webs away, and ran across a door that had been hidden by them. Several smaller spiders appeared to their regret, but as we began walking again I reflexively looked up. I had been startled almost out of my smalls too many times by gigantic spiders dropping from the ceiling to not look up. There were none in that room, but there might be more later on. One could hope not.

“Well, damn,” I muttered. In the next room was a massive spider dangling from the ceiling. Aela used arrows at first, I used fire. The usual. But finally, we made it to a large room with multiple levels, and spiraling ramps leading upward. At the end, up on the top level, was a sarcophagus protected by a metal grate, but in the middle of the lowest part of the floor was a brazier, burning blue flames. A ghostly Kodlak was stood at it, warming his hands.

He looked at us and said, “My fellow Harbingers and I have been warming ourselves here. Trying to evade Hircine.”

I looked around quickly, wondering if my eyesight was playing tricks on me, as Aela said, “There is no one else here.”

“You see only me because your hearts know only me as the leader of the Companions. I’d wager old Vignar could see half a dozen of my predecessors. And I see them all. The ones in Sovngarde. The ones trapped with me in Hircine’s realm. And they all see you. You’ve brought honor to the name of the Companions. We won’t soon forget it.”

“We’re here because Vilkas was certain you could still be cured,” I said. “I brought what you sent me for.”

“Did he now? I can only hope. Throw one of them into the fire. It will release their magic, for me at least.”

Aela nodded at me to let me know she was ready, so I fetched out one of the heads and tossed it into the brazier. A massive, angry, red spirit wolf erupted from Kodlak and went on the attack. Aela and I brought it down, but it was a rough few minutes.

“And so slain the beast inside of me,” Kodlak said once it was over. “I thank you for this gift. The other Harbingers remain trapped by Hircine, though. Perhaps from Sovngarde, the heroes of old can join me in their rescue. The Harrowing of the Hunting Grounds. It would be a battle of such triumph. And perhaps some day, you’ll join us in that battle.”

I was confused at that point. Aela would never give up the beast blood, and I was a Breton vampire, unlikely to ever see Sovngarde.

“But for today, return to Jorrvaskr. Triumph in your victory. And lead the Companions to further glory.”

Very, very confused. Then he faded out.

There was a shortcut back to the entrance up one of those spiraling ramps, exiting out to the right of the statue of Ysgramor (if you were facing it), and that reminded me that there was another door in there. That one led outside and I found, after climbing up a ways, another word wall: Raan—Animal.

###### Sun’s Dusk, 25th, 4E 201

I ran into Farkas during a sales run—I had to get rid of all my enchanting work somehow—and he expressed the desire to be cleansed as Kodlak had been, so I made sure I had one of the heads and we proceeded from there.

###### Sun’s Dusk, 26th, 4E 201

We arrived in the teeth of a raging blizzard, of course. Farkas’s wolf was dealt with in the same manner as Kodlak’s, though the one from Farkas did not seem quite so angry, nor was it that horrid red colour. Before I had a chance to offer him a bed at the College for the night he said he wanted to stay behind in the tomb and look around.

I felt like being flippant and saying, “Now that the spiders are all dead?” Instead I just nodded and departed. I went to the College to get caught up on things, take care of some paperwork. . . .

###### Sun’s Dusk, 27th, 4E 201

I had intended to take a carriage from Windhelm, but noticed that a Khajiit trading caravan had set up. Ma’dran had a flawless sapphire, which reminded me of an errand I was running for someone in Riften. I bought it, then headed into the city to see if anyone there had any for sale. I only needed one more and if I could find another I’d swing by Riften instead of Whiterun, and take care of several of those errands at once.

‘Oh, happy day,’ I thought, looking at a dead girl’s body surrounded by a guard and several others. She was splayed out on one of those horizontal stone tomb covers and a trail of blood led away from it. I had to wonder. Windhelm had a Hall of the Dead, so why were there so many graves out in the open? The walls themselves in that area had countless names chiseled into them, as reminders, so why not put all the bodies in the hall?

The guard there got all panicky when she saw me and demanded to know what I was doing. I decided that saying I was “walking” would not go over well, so I asked what was going on. Someone had been killing young women, and the guards were too thinly stretched to actually do anything about it. I think that was when my dislike of Jarl Ulfric really started to blossom.

“Is there anything I can do to help, then?”

She seemed pleased to hear the offer, and directed me to take statements from the onlookers.

Silda, a beggar, had heard a scream and came running, but there was no one about when she arrived. Calixto thought he “saw a fellow running away, but didn’t get a good look at him”. He might have seen nothing more than an odd shadow from overhead caused by the wind.

Helgird saw nothing, but then she was the one who prepared bodies in the Hall of the Dead. By the time she would have responded to the scream it would have been too late. “Eehhh... no,” she said when I questioned her. “Sorry. But I did notice that her coinpurse was still intact, so whoever did this wasn’t after gold. I’m going to keep preparing the body, if you’ll excuse me.”

I reported back to the guard, who had probably overheard all of it anyway, and she directed me to speak with the steward, Jorleif, at the Palace of Kings for further permission. That gave me pause. I had no real interest in getting that close to the seat of one side of the war, but needs must. Someone had to figure this out, and I seemed to be the idiot willing to do so.

I hastened off to the marketplace and checked with the vendors there. Found a flawless diamond, but not any sapphires. Unfortunately, the Gray Quarter had nothing, either, so I headed to the palace. Thankfully, the Jarl wasn’t around, so I got that out of the way expediently enough. Jorleif promised that he would inform the guards I would be investigating. He also told me where to find the court wizard, so I visited him to see what he had for sale.

Then I returned to the guard. She pointed out the trail of blood I had already noticed and suggested I speak to Helgird first. Helgird really had nothing much of interest to say aside from some thoughts on the tools used to make the cuts in the woman’s body, so I left and followed the blood trail instead.

Along the way I collected another sweet roll.

The trail led to a house in the fancy housing area. The rich probably lived in the other houses along the path. I checked around for any witnesses, then picked the lock and slipped inside. I could have bugged Jorleif or found another way, but that would have been a waste of my time.

The trail of blood led over to a chest which looked as though it’d been recently moved. It held a bunch of pamphlets and a journal.

> The plans are coming together swimmingly. I’ve found good sources of bone, flesh, and blood, but thus far a good sampling of sinew and marrow have escaped me. No matter. The city is swollen with contemptuous fools who will be missed by nobody. Last night was almost able to corner Susanna as she left Candlehearth.
> 
> Idiot guard showed up at just the wrong moment and I had to turn about, just out for a stroll, and so forth. There will be other chances, but the time is drawing near. I think back to my time in Winterhold. All the wasted minds up in their towers. They only explore the magic they already know.
> 
> I am discovering new magic here. Something deeper than the cantripped shenanigans of fire and light. This flesh magic is older than us. Perhaps older than the world itself. I am tugging at the corners of the fabric of the universe, and where it bunches and folds is where I shall create my greatest triumph.
> 
> One more attempt at the Candlehearth girl. She’s proving to be a bit too cautious, but those strong joints of hers should contain the most exquisite tendons. Worth the effort. Tonight.

“Lovely,” I muttered and tucked the journal away, along with one of the pamphlets. “Not even polite enough to wait until someone is dead naturally to start borrowing body parts. Ugh.”

There were some pots and pans with skeever droppings in them, some rooms upstairs (presumably bedrooms) with nothing more than oddly stacked furniture, a small dresser with some clothes still inside. . . . But back downstairs was a room with several wardrobes and a small bookshelf. The shelf had a multitude of those _Beware the Butcher!_ pamphlets, but of more importance was the strange amulet peeking out from underneath one of the stacks. I imagined that the killer had been collecting Viola’s work and hiding them away. Out of sight, out of mind? Kind of hard to believe that when people kept being murdered.

One of the wardrobes was affixed to the wall itself and had a false back. Inside was a bloody nightmare. Bones, body parts, all the old tools found in tombs—and food! There was also another journal.

> #### 17 tendons and assorted ligaments  
>  173 fragments of bone for assemblage approx.  
>  4 bucket-fulls of blood (Nord preferred)  
>  6 spoons of marrow (no more than 2 from a thigh)  
>  12 yards of flesh (before cutting)
> 
>   
> 
> 
> #### star-scrying to the edge of the ice-mind  
>  look to the lights where the souls dance  
>  revealing the time when a spark will revive  
>  when the rotted unites under most skillful hands  
>  (translation from Aldmer text, as interpreted by the Ayleids  
>  and first transcribed by Altmer. provenance and authority unknown)
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> #### soon

“What a charming fellow,” I muttered. I tucked that away as well and left, taking a moment to close the secret door. I had no way to lock the front door behind me, but if the killer returned that issue might be overlooked.

The amulet was something I’d have to check into. It might simply be something left behind by the previous owner, but it could also be related, especially given the faint relief of a skull carved on it. I could only think of two people to ask, either the court wizard or that strange Calixto fellow.

Wuunferth was sleeping (he was an old man, so an afternoon nap was probably normal for him) so I tracked down Calixto at his “House of Curiosities”. After taking the tour he offered I showed him the amulet and he identified it as the Wheelstone, a symbol of power of Windhelm, usually carried by the court mage.

I kept a straight face and nodded. ‘No, it has a skull on it, not any variant of a damn wheel,’ I thought. ‘I also haven’t seen anything like a “wheelstone” anywhere in Windhelm, not even in the palace, and certainly not in Wuunferth’s room, so this guy is either crazy, faking it, or up to something.’

He then offered to buy it from me. I considered pointing out that perhaps the court mage should have it instead (were that true), but I wanted to see where all this was going. I sold it to him for five hundred septims. What really caught my attention was him saying it’d be a fine thing for his “private” collection.

After that I tracked down Viola Giordano. She seemed convinced that Wuunferth was to blame, especially since he was called Wuunferth the Unliving. But considering how Nords tend to get their names I couldn’t put much stock in that part of the theory. Viola pushed me to speak with the steward, but that would amount to asking for an arrest, and I wasn’t ready to do that.

I thanked her for her help and headed to the palace. I would speak to Wuunferth first. There were guards all over that part of the palace, so even if he did attack me I’d have backup, in theory. Also, Silda had said no one was there, so where was Calixto when he claimed to have seen someone fleeing? The blood trail led to the house, which meant the girl’s body was dragged from there to the graveyard, so who had screamed and alerted Silda?

I was deliberately provocative when I questioned Wuunferth about necromancy, the amulet, and the journals I found. He was either an excellent actor or he really was a member in good standing of the College, and hadn’t the time to keep a journal (unlike me). He identified the amulet, based on my description, as the Necromancer’s Amulet, of legend.

I was inclined more to believe him over Calixto. Wuunferth then started muttering about dates, and checked the notes on his desk. I was told to keep watch in the Stone Quarter the next night, that it should tie in with the next “scheduled” death.

That would mean getting there early, attempting to conceal myself, and being ready for another attack, preferably not on myself. I headed out, pleased that it was still just guards and the steward present, and headed to Candlehearth for the night.

I did not understand a lot of what Wuunferth had been mumbling, but I got the distinct impression that the deaths had to occur under specific circumstances, some confluence of stars and conditions—something like that. If so, that would explain, in part, some of the comments in the journals along with the timing of the previous murders.

###### Sun’s Dusk, 28th, 4E 201

Calixto was dead, by my hand. An elf was walking through the marketplace after dark and Calixto stalked her. I suppose he felt safe enough given that thus far no one had ever caught him in the act. Some fire took care of that problem and Jorleif was informed. I also took a moment to check Calixto’s pockets and found several keys, which I secured.

In his house I found a third journal.

> #### Soon enough, my sweet Lucilla, you will be with me again. Normally when such words are written it is because the love left behind is soon to depart, but in my case, I hope to soon bring your spirit back into my world, for it was you who loved this world so much, not I.
> 
> I continue to collect your new form from the ragged bits around Windhelm. If they only knew what destiny would soon grace their bodies, with your spirit imbuing them with higher purpose, they would surely thank me for the great gift I give them. I reserve for them a place of beauty alongside your heart.
> 
> The day draws near. Soon I will hold you. And I will show you this and it will be as delivering a long-forgotten letter to a weary traveler.
> 
> #### Love always, Calixto

Lucilla, Calixto’s sister, the one he used to adventure with. Well now, this sounded almost like a love letter, not a letter to his beloved sister. I reclaimed the amulet while I was there.

###### Sun’s Dusk, 29th, 4E 201

I was just about to leave Candlehearth when a man named Rolff just had to say something nasty about mer and Argonians. Amusingly, as I was beating the stuffing out of the guy in a brawl, the bard decided it was a good time to start a song. I won, he lost, but he accused me of cheating, the stupid sod. It’s not as though losing a brawl would change his mind, anyway. He’d be better off blaming the real problem, not the incidentals.

I didn’t really like Windhelm. Too many of the people there were racist skeevers. The Jarl didn’t seem willing to do anything about that, or the problems suffered by the non-Nords, and while there were some mer who had carved out a life and some respect, most hadn’t. Windhelm seemed to abound with those who liked to threaten random Dunmer, talking about taking them as prisoners and interrogating them to see how they were connected to the Imperials or the Thalmor as spies.

Jarl Ulfric couldn’t even seem to govern his own city properly, and he expected to govern a country?

###### Sun’s Dusk, 30th, 4E 201

When I got back to Whiterun Vilkas found me in town and told me he wished to be cleansed. And like his brother, once it was done he wanted to roam around the tomb, so I headed on to the College.


	16. 5.1 Interlude

20042015-21042015

## 5.1

###### Evening Star, 1st, 4E 201

I, uh, ran into another group of revelers on the way out of Winterhold. Let’s not talk about the blizzard raging around us and that while alcohol makes you feel warmer it also makes it easier for you to freeze to death. . . . The fellow who approached me thought it was fine weather! Damn Nords. He gave me some Honningbrew Mead and I went on my way.

Ran into the usual things along the way to Solitude, spiders, wolves, bears, trolls, Afflicted (and might I say, there were an awful lot of Afflicted fleeing their current leader). It was weird and sort of fascinating to watch an Afflicted projectile vomit green goo at things as a form of attack. On the other hand, blech.

###### Evening Star, 2nd, 4E 201

I added another sweet roll to my collection. Current count: 11.

###### Evening Star, 3rd, 4E 201

Another assassin attacked. Perhaps it had been tempting fate that I was thinking as I jogged toward Riften that it had been a while since I’d seen one. There had been an attempted hold-up on the bridge. That skeever was easily intimidated. Then came the assassin, a Dunmer. That one seemed almost competent. He came at night, no witnesses that I could discern, but still, it was hardly intelligent to use a war cry. Had I not sensed him approaching that sort of behavior would certainly have warned me.

Vampires have really got to learn to be more stealthy. They hailed me, wearing robes and gear of Vigilants, yet there were two or more stripped down corpses in plain sight?

Because I was really going to fall for that.

###### Evening Star, 4th, 4E 201

I rolled into the Bee and Barb a little after midnight. One of the Stormcloak sympathizers, some old man, started ranting away as I ordered some drinks from Talen-Jei.

“Drink up, my boy! Drink to those who have fallen! May their souls find their way to Sovngarde!”

“Take it easy, father,” the younger man sitting with him said. “You’re making a scene.”

“I’ll rest easy when we’ve driven every last Imperial pig back across the Jerall Mountains! Now, do me the honor I deserve as your father and drink up!”

“Yes . . . father.”

Brynjolf was there and slid into the seat next to me while those two were talking. I passed over a Velvet LeChance. “Fancy meeting you here,” I said. “How’s the market stall working for you?”

He made a sound of disgust and sipped his drink.

I began recounting one of my adventures, when I had gone through Yngvild, near Dawnstar. That awful man who kidnapped people and used them for his necromantic experiments. “There were a lot of subjugated spirits in there. He was a creepy bastard, I tell you.”

Brynjolf looked more interested than I expected. “Vekel mentioned something about that place not long ago.”

“Vekel?”

“He owns the Ragged Flagon. Sells food, drinks, the usual. I think he was interested in some books or journals or something from that necromancer.”

“Why do I get the feeling you aren’t going to tell me how to get there?” I said with a faint smile.

“Because I’m not, lass. You know the deal. You help me, I help you.”

“Right. It must be awfully wearying to always be making deals.”

“It is what it is.”

I shook my head lightly and had more of my drink. “I’ll find it. Don’t you worry your pretty head how. Of course, I have to remember where I put those books first.”

“Got a lot of pigeonholes, do you?” he asked.

“Mm, sort of, but not really,” I said. “It’s hard to call any place home when you wander so much.”

The look Brynjolf gave me said he was well aware of my equivocation.

“It’s late. I’m going to get some rest. We’ll talk again, I’m sure.”

After I woke up I asked around. Mjoll was helpful for that. Despite hating the Thieves Guild she knew how to find the Ragged Flagon. I could only hope she’d never actually gone there, not when she made it blatantly obvious on a regular basis just what she thought of them. During the course of our conversation I agreed to track down her sword for her, should I ever find myself in Mzinchaleft.

I found the Ragged Flagon easily enough after getting down to the canal level and entering the door Mjoll had mentioned. I did make sure she didn’t witness me going there, though. While I had no intention of joining up, her seeing me go into the Ratway might have given her the wrong impression. Of course, I didn’t share her opinion of them, either. I had to take a few lives on my journey through the Ratway, but they attacked first, which made them fair game.

“Why can’t you just settle down and run the Flagon with me?” the man behind the bar was saying as I approached.

“I don’t want to settle down,” replied the dark-skinned woman on a little platform over the pool of water taking up most of the center of the room. “I like things the way they are.”

“Come on, Ton. Marry me. Let me take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

‘Oh gods,’ I thought. ‘A domestic dispute.’ I almost turned around to come back later, but ended up going to the bar anyway. “You Vekel?” I asked.

He eyed me and said, “Who’s asking?”

“A little birdie told me you might be interested in some books from a necromancer up Dawnstar way.”

His eyes brightened. “My client is offering quite a reward for them, which I’d split with you.”

“And did this client happen to say how many there were?”

“Four.”

“What would be my part of the reward?”

He pulled a sword out from under the bar and placed it on the surface. I rested a hand on it and felt for any enchantments. It was common enough, fire damage, but I knew I could sell it for a decent enough amount. “All right. Hold on a moment while I get them.”

He nodded so I stepped back so I had some room and summoned Luggage. Vekel’s eyes went the tiniest bit wider at the sight. “Open up, please.”

Luggage danced in place, then popped its lid. I crouched down long enough to snag the books from where I’d left them the night before and closed the lid. “Okay. Follow me, but don’t attack anyone unless they start it.”

Luggage danced an affirmative so I nodded and turned back to Vekel. “Check them over to be sure,” I said, and placed the stack on the bar.

“That’s . . . interesting,” he said, eyeing Luggage.

“Mm, found it in a Dwemer ruin and it decided I was its new master. Quite handy to have around.”

“I can imagine.” He checked over the four journals and nodded. “These are the ones. Sword’s yours. Good doing business with you.”

I took the sword and hung it from my belt for the time being. “What do you have for sale?”

I sipped some Shadowbanish Wine—funny, it did nothing to my vision, but it tasted quite nice—as I looked around the place. Various notes were scattered here and there, but it would have been too difficult to read them unless I used invisibility, and disappearing in front of these people might have been taken the wrong way. I could read the one on the bar, however, and it was to someone named Vex, from a Delvin, and he was entreating her to let him in. Seemed to be a lot of that going around.

Before I left I said to Vekel, “I’m not sure that Shadowbanish is the real thing, by the way. Might want to get that checked.”

I headed into the Warrens just to see what was there, but aside from a bunch of people trying to kill me for no good reason and one old man hiding behind an extremely intimidating door, there was little of interest.

Brynjolf joined me again that evening at the Bee and Barb. Somehow my time underground and making the rounds of the marketplace had consumed the better part of my day.

“Told you I’d find it. Not like it was difficult,” I said.

He gave me a sarcastic smile and took a pull of his drink.

“You look glum. Did you ever find someone to do that job?”

“Yes, eventually,” he admitted.

I grinned and said, “I noticed you switched over to hawking genuine shards of Lorkhan’s heart. Weird, though, how the pitch is so similar.”

Brynjolf snorted. “When interest wanes, the game has to change a bit.”

###### Evening Star, 5th, 4E 201

I set out early. It was a long way to Mzinchaleft, after all. I was partway through Shor’s Stone when I remembered that I had agreed to pick up an ore sample for the alchemist’s wife in Riften. I followed the sound of steel being worked and found the blacksmith, Filnjar.

He greeted me with a dispirited, “I hate seeing a good mine go to waste like that, you know?”

I blinked. “. . .What’s wrong with the mine?”

“It’s full of spiders, that’s what’s wrong with it! Almost killed Grogmar and me when they showed up. I’m worried that they’ll come out of the mine looking for food soon. Then we’re in even bigger trouble. They moved right in and made themselves at home. Did it overnight. I’m not even sure exactly where they came from. No one’s been hurt yet, and they seem to be staying in the mine, but who knows how long that will last? If we can’t get back into the mine, our town is sunk.”

“I’m going to guess the guards have been of no help.”

He sounded bitter when he said, “They’re as useless as a fifth wheel on a wagon. Gave me some sort of line about ‘keeping an eye out for enemy soldiers’. What’s the point in protecting this place if the mine’s completely useless? Idiots.”

‘Oh, why not,’ I thought. “Right. I’ll go take care of it. Spiders don’t frighten me.”

Filnjar expressed guarded optimism at that and said, “Tell you what. Keep to your word, and I’ll line your pockets with as much as I can scrape up.”

I nodded. “Where’s the entrance?”

As I was approaching the entrance a guard there started speaking to me, which surprised me. I had developed the notion in no time flat that they all must suffer from arachnophobia, so why would one be standing there near the mine? He actually followed me inside to finish what he was saying and helped kill the first spider that crawled out of hiding. But then he fled—the guard, that is. The spiders were easy to take care of. While I was there I helped myself to some of those delicious ore veins. I went back to Filnjar and let him know the mine was safe again.

“Gone?” he said in disbelief. “Every one of them? Why, that’s incredible. Finally, we can reopen the mine and put Shor’s Stone back on the map! Here, please accept this gift as a token of our gratitude.”

“Thank you. Ah, the reason I came to speak with you in the first place is the alchemist’s wife—I forget their names—in Riften—said you had an ore sample you needed checked over.”

“It’s about time,” he replied. “I sent them a letter weeks ago. That Elgrim . . . he’d forget his own pants if his wife didn’t help him dress. Hold on a moment.” He rooted around under a table in his work area and came back up with some ore to hand to me. “Tell Hafjorg that she can chip off whatever she thinks is a fair trade for their time.”

I pulled out my journal and made a note of that before saying, “Just out of curiosity, where’d it come from?”

“Redbelly is supposed to be nothing but an iron mine. Been working it for years. Then right before the spiders moved in, we found that chunk of ore. Never seen anything like it. I want to know what I’m dealing with before I start tearing it out of the ground.”

“Ah, I see. I’ll get it to them.”

It wasn’t until I was far enough away from town and could check that I realized Filnjar had given me fifteen hundred septims as a reward. I usually got piddly little rewards for taking bounties, but this—just wow.

###### Evening Star, 6th, 4E 201

I cut through Labyrinthian on my way north to Mzinchaleft. Coming at it from the south I saw an overlook off to the right and went up. Another word wall, this one guarded by a wisp mother: Diin—Freeze.

I also learned one at the end of a strange maze in Labyrinthian, though I was able to bypass the maze itself to get at the chanting I heard in the distance: Ru—Run.

###### Evening Star, 7th, 4E 201

It was a long trek through the ruins, punctuated by quite a few bandits providing blood, and then a gauntlet of Falmer. I was still of two minds there. What the Dwemer did was revolting and unforgivable, but the Falmer as they were at present were pathetic and dangerous, an infestation not much better than the chaurus they bred.

I found the room eventually. As soon as I opened the door I could see a dormant Centurion in its cradle. I attacked and broke it easily enough. There was a gleaming sword off to the side, fetched up against the wall, and a closer inspection revealed it was Grimsever. But I poked around for a bit first, not going through the door at the back, and found another of those strange devices that the attunement sphere Septimus had given me would open.

I was reminded of that mysterious artifact I had read about, so I checked in Luggage to see just how much blood I had on hand, then used the sphere to open the way to Blackreach. As soon as I emerged into Blackreach I saw a mechanism in front of a barred lift. A push of the button took care of that and I rode the lift up so I could unlock it from the inside. Hopefully it would stay that way and not be relocked by the Falmer.

I went back down so I could poke around—I could see that strange caged sphere again. It’s almost like a subterranean sun, but, well, there’s really no way of knowing just what the Dwemer were thinking. It hung over what might well have been a city.

On a side note, I had no idea there were giants in Blackreach! I had a much better view of the “city” from the giants’ lair. There was a wall around the place, distinct buildings within, and that bloody great “sun” overhead. I was at Blackreach to investigate, so I headed for the city.

I had no idea the Falmer took servants. Men, Khajiit, but no mer—they obviously don’t torture and kill all the people they capture, but why did these people stay there? They had no armor, but they did have weapons. Why did they not escape? Had they been beaten down so far that the thought never occured to them? Had they formed some strange symbiosis? I was mistaken. One of the servants was a Dunmer. I wondered if there were any Argonian, as well.

Another lift I found brought me to the surface, but I had no idea where I came out except that it was cold and snowing like mad. I unlocked that one, too, before I returned to Blackreach. There was a Dwemer ruin up there that looked unfamiliar, but I already had a place to explore and I would probably end up going in later anyway.

Some time later I came across a building that at first I thought was completely empty. One room was set aside with a multitude of beds all arrayed in a near circle, conforming to the shape of the room itself. Up a ramp outside that room and straight on was a double bed. A door stood to the left, leading out onto a balcony of sorts that overlooked the entrance room of the building.

It was up there that I found the body.

It looked like some variant of mer, but not one I recognized, and I hardly thought that I, of all the people anywhere who had ever investigated Dwemer ruins after they had vanished, had found a dead Dwemer. No, actually. When I looted the body its appearance changed to that of a Falmer.

All because of a thin silvery band.

That same balcony had two Dwemer chests, which I looted, of course. One held a set of armor I found most interesting. Dark, matching pieces. A face-concealing mask. It reminded me of the dragon bones I had seen in Valerica’s study. Well, it did not _entirely_ conceal the face, that mask. The eyes were unobstructed, but. . . . I tucked it away for the time being, in Luggage.

That silvery band, however. . . .

There was no telling what it would do to my own appearance until I could find a place to see my reflection, and with enough light. That, too, went into Luggage. I realized that I had been in Blackreach for seemingly forever. I retreated to the double bed and told Luggage to guard my rest and attack anything that dared come inside.

###### Evening Star, 8th, 4E 201

Having gotten some sleep I realized that I might well have found that mysterious artifact. My brain had been more than a little fuzzy there for a while. But still, that could wait. Outside the building I went left slightly, toward a circular platform, and realized what it was after a moment.

There was a groove in the surface and a lever near me. Steps on the other side, a short flight of them, led to a set of stone chairs and numerous benches for viewing. It was a torture device. The Dwemer were sick-minded. When in use there were probably viewers up there, a torturer at the lever, and some kind of barrier to keep in the victims as the blades that would pop out and spin would rend the flesh from the bodies and reduce them to mere piles of parts.

To my left was a series of stairs leading down, splitting at a landing to go up (toward some trolls I had fried yesterday) and down (to the water, and I assumed to the same area one of the lifts had taken me).

After a long walk and rather a lot of mining I found my way back to the Tower of Mzark, where Serana and I passed through on our way to an Elder Scroll. I decided to rest there, with Luggage on guard, not that I expected any trouble.

###### Evening Star, 9th, 4E 201

Getting back to civilization would not be an issue after taking the lift up from Mzark. I still had to track down a flawless sapphire, though, and it was starting to piss me off that I hadn’t yet found one.

Another standing stone, another set of bandits (or necromancers). I could see a shrine I decided to ignore.

Went by Dimhollow Crypt again, which made me think of Serana. Every time I stopped by the house she always seemed to be brooding. When I got down off the mountain I cut west rather than waste time taking the road and came upon that one Dwemer ruin I’d seen before and walked on the roofs of. The lift for that was unlocked, which meant I had used it to come up from Blackreach. If nothing else I could use it again, assuming I got around to obtaining the last of the crimson nirnroot I still needed for Sinderion’s research.

I passed by some Vigilants of Stendarr and wondered where they were operating from with their hall a smoking ruin. There were certainly still plenty of them roaming Skyrim. I wasted no time in Dragon Bridge and sped right on through. It had started to rain, a horrible grey drizzle that made my bones ache.

I had barely made it through the gates of Solitude when Blaise and Lucia ran up to me and joyously welcomed me back. I gave them both presents and watched as they raced off to go play, then checked in at Bits and Pieces. They did not have what I needed, but I purchased some filled soul gems for my enchanting practice.

I even rooted around the house to see if a gem was hiding somewhere, but no, nothing. I searched everywhere.

###### Evening Star, 11th, 4E 201

I remained for an extra day to spend with the children. On my way out of the city I stopped at Bits and Pieces (they had a flawless amethyst, but not a sapphire), then exited the gates. I considered taking a carriage to Markarth to try my luck there, but saw Ma’dran and his caravan camped outside town.

‘Yes!’ I nearly crowed out loud. Ma’dran had a flawless sapphire. I was so pleased I gave him twice the value and rushed off to the stables to get a carriage to Riften.

###### Evening Star, 12th, 4E 201

I returned the sword to Mjoll, in Aerin’s house. She offered to be a companion if I needed one because she could see she still had so much to learn. Given just how easy it had been for me I had to wonder how this woman, who claimed she had adventured through half the provinces or more of Tamriel, failed so badly when a Centurion had stepped out of its cradle. In an unkind moment I half considered telling her she would only hold me back.

But what caught my attention was a note on the table that I read while she was speaking. 

> #### Lady Mjoll,
> 
> I hope this letter finds safe passage to your hands. We are in desperate need of help and we have nowhere else to turn. Everyone in Dawnstar is having nightmares. These horrible visions plague our slumber and leave us feeling frightened and tired even after a full night’s sleep.
> 
> I myself have awoken from one of the dreams bathed in cold sweat after having one of these nightmares. The things that I saw were simply too appalling to describe. There’s a priest of Mara that claims he might be able to help us, but so far, he simply sits within the Windpeak Inn scribbling notes.
> 
> If you could find it in your heart to make the journey to our city and help us, I would forever be in your debt.
> 
> #### Madena

Mjoll received this letter nearly four months ago, if not longer, and she never went? The loss of Grimsever must have horrifically dented her confidence. Either that or she was simply too busy being a champion of Riften to bother, or too enamored of Aerin.

I left as soon as Aerin caught her attention and checked the market stalls and shops, took care of a few of those errands. That evening I shared another drink at the Bee and Barb with Brynjolf, but felt like gossiping. So I asked him to take a walk with me outside the city. We left by the gate near the palace and looped around east, where far fewer people ever seemed to go.

“So why the privacy?” he asked once we were well away from the city.

“Some gossip,” I said pertly, “and as the subject of this gossip tends to frequent the tavern. . . .”

“Ah. Do tell,” he invited.

I told him of Mjoll’s request and was halfway through recounting my trip to Mzinchaleft when I realized there was a bizarre building up ahead. “I don’t recall seeing that place before,” I said, and pointed. Half the place looked like a more or less typical house, but the other half was a damn mushroom.

“I—don’t see anything, actually,” he said.

I turned to look at him. “What?”

“It’s just woods, lass.”

I turned back; the house was still there. “That’s one damn solid illusion, then. Come on.” I grabbed his hand and hauled him forward. When he gasped I stopped and let go. “Hm?”

“I can see it now.”

“Strange,” I commented, then headed forward again. The door was unlocked so I opened it and stepped inside. The entry room was fairly small. There was a set of stairs leading upward and a door to the right. To the left was a kitchen of sorts. Upstairs was a bedroom, open-faced wardrobes, and so forth. The door downstairs led into the mushroom.

That had an indoor garden for alchemy, a ramp spiraling upward, and a cozy little seating area up there. We took seats and I said, “If only I could see it at first, does that make it mine?”

“Well now. It’s fairly dusty and looks to have been abandoned. Perhaps so. There’s not even a lock on that door.”

“We’ll see, I guess. Now, about Mjoll. . . .”

###### Evening Star, 14th, 4E 201

When I arrived back at Elysium Serana was ready to talk. “I’ve decided to return to Castle Volkihar to try to rebuild my relationship with my mother,” she said.

I nodded. “I think it’d be wonderful if you could regain that part of your family. But always remember you have a home here, too. The loft is yours.”

She smiled at that and briefly clasped my arm.

“I’ll go with you if you want,” I offered.

Serana shook her head. “No, this is a certain kind of journey. But don’t be the least bit surprised if you see me often enough when you come home.”

Her refusal didn’t surprise me, just like I wouldn’t be surprised if she did turn up frequently. She’d had a lot of time with my growing library, Whiterun, and with Valdimar to talk to (someone who knew absolutely nothing about her and therefore couldn’t make many assumptions) to think and consider her options.

The other thing that happened was me remembering that I had that band. After retiring for the night I fetched out the band, sent up a brief prayer, and slid it on one finger, then looked into the mirror. I had green eyes, pale blonde hair, subtly different facial features. . . . I could see the resemblance easily, but I’m me. To others? People who weren’t all that familiar with me?

Well, the band might come in handy at some point, and maybe it was just another thing to display on a shelf, much like the other oddities I kept collecting. Which reminded me—what _did_ I do with that bug in a jar?

###### Evening Star, 16th, 4E 201

While passing a bit of time at the Winking Skeever I overheard several people talking about how General Tullius was after Ulfric Stormcloak again. That was all well and good, but should they _really_ be speaking of it in a crowded tavern? Where spies might be listening?

I heard of that ilk at the Four Shields Tavern in Dragon Bridge. A shady looking fellow was mumbling to himself over his cup (and I suspected he’d had more than a few to be speaking of such things so openly in a town with a Penitus Oculatus outpost) about an ambush being prepared over in Darkwater Crossing.

I couldn’t recall ever passing through there, so I checked my map to see where it was. As it turned out I had passed by it many times, but never bothered to move off the main road to check the place out. It was approximately halfway between Ivarstead and Shor’s Stone, right on the edge of the hot springs area, so it was reasonably close to Windhelm, as well. Still, it was an odd place for an ambush. But I wasn’t part of the military or a strategist, so what did I know?

###### Evening Star, 20th, 4E 201

After spending several days at the College I headed south and spent a few uneasy hours at Windhelm so I could make the rounds of the shops. Then I headed south again. When I made it to Mixwater Mill I knew I was over halfway to Darkwater Crossing.

How droll—a bear and a mudcrab snapping and pawing at each other. The bear won. It’d been a while so I followed the river for a bit instead of taking the longer way by road, fought off another bear, found an abandoned shack, and collected creep cluster, jazbay grapes, and dragon’s tongue. I may or may not have spent time in the deliciously warm pools, killed a few necromancers, and got some mining done.

The soldiers at Darkwater (Stormcloaks) were of absolutely no help, but a fellow in the mine told me that Tullius had just left, and that a number of “rebels” had been captured and were being taken to Helgen. Well, if there was a prisoner escort in progress I thought I could get there much faster.

After a time I finally saw the escort in the distance. They were taking a road that would lead them through Ivarstead from the north, so I knew which route to take to avoid actually running into them on the way to the pass.

I had never actually been to Helgen. It was too far south off my usual circuit. I ever only went near Falkreath because it was on the way to Ancestor Glade, but normally I wouldn’t bother. The run between Markarth and Whiterun was well enough, and there was no sense dipping south except and until Riften came close.

There were a lot of bears in the pass, but Horse is fast and there were plenty of deer and elk to divert attention. Let the escort have fun dealing with them.

When I arrived it was just coming on dusk, so I sincerely doubted I would need to stay on watch. The people went about their lives as they tend to do in towns (walled or not) and did not seem particularly aware that a convoy of prisoners would be arriving, probably in the morning.

As it was I shopped around for a bit, then took a room at the inn. I thought about it that night, why I was even bothering to be there. I strongly disliked the man, thought he was unfit to rule. Maybe I just wanted to see his head roll, and see a possible end to the war tearing up the country. Then again, Ulfric’s death might well make him into a martyr, but cutting off the head of the rebellion might see his rebellion collapse. Time would tell.


	17. 6.1 Dovahkiin

21042015

## 6.1

###### Unbound  
Evening Star, 21st, 4E 201

I was up early, fed, and outside lounging with relative inconspicuousness in the shadows and covered with invisibility. The spot I chose just so happened to be on the fringes of a wide open area in the town with a marvelous decoration of a headsman’s block at the center. It wasn’t too terribly long before I could hear the approach of wagons. It made me wonder just how many people the Imperials had caught in their ambush.

There were plenty enough soldiers gathered by the time I heard one of them call out toward the lead wagon, “General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!”

“Good,” an imposing grey-haired soldier replied and dropped down to the ground. “Let’s get this over with.”

‘Hm, he must have sent someone on ahead to get here before the convoy,’ I thought. ‘Probably to ensure that everything was ready.’

A ratty-looking Nord in the second cart started praying frantically. “Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me.”

A blond Nord in the same cart looked at the reception and scoffed. “Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this.”

There were times I blessed my keen hearing, and this was one of those.

“This is Helgen,” the blond continued. “I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny—when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.”

“Who are they, daddy?” questioned a small boy over on one of the porches. “Where are they going?”

“You need to go inside, little cub.”

“Why?” the boy protested. “I want to watch the soldiers.”

“Inside the house,” the father said harshly. “Now.”

The lead wagon stopped not far from the chopping block as the child obeyed, the other wagon coming to a halt as well.

“Why are they stopping?” asked the ratty Nord.

“Why do you think?” said the blond. “End of the line. Let’s go. Shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us.”

It was then I realized that the gagged man in the second cart must be Ulfric Stormcloak. He was handsome enough, I supposed, but after seeing his city for myself, well, no amount of looks could make up for that.

As the prisoners were jumping down the ratty one started in again. “You’ve got to tell them! I wasn’t with you!”

I actually felt a bit bad for that one. He probably wasn’t a Stormcloak and had just been caught up in things. It did seem a bit odd he was there, but perhaps he had committed some crime worthy of execution?

“Face your death with some courage, thief,” the blond said a bit disgustedly.

“This is a mistake!” Ratty cried.

One of the soldiers, an important-looking female, called out, “Step toward the block when we call your name. One at a time!”

“Empire loves their damn lists,” the blond muttered.

“Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm,” said a dark-haired Nord Legionnaire holding a parchment list.

“It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!” said the blond as the Jarl took his place.

“Ralof of Riverwood,” the list-holder announced. Then, “Lokir of Rorikstead.”

“No, I’m not a rebel!” the ratty-looking Lokir cried desperately. “You can’t do this!” He made a break for it, still bound at the wrists, and went racing awkwardly off away from the gathering.

“Halt!” cried the female soldier.

“You’re not going to kill me!” Lokir called back as he continued to run.

“Archers!”

Sadly, for Lokir, he went down in that single volley.

“Anyone else feel like running?” the soldier asked.

I was really starting to dislike her. Her manner was everything a person could ask for if you wanted someone smug and arrogant.

Other names were called, until all the prisoners were lined up and waiting. Then General Tullius stepped forward.

“Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn’t use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne.”

Ulfric grunted; it rather sounded like he was protesting something.

“You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace.”

Before he could say more a very peculiar roaring sound could be heard from the nearby mountain. Not a bear, or a sabre cat. . . .

“What was that?” List-Holder said sharply.

“It’s nothing,” Tullius said. “Carry on.”

“Yes, General Tullius,” Smug responded. “Give them their last rites.”

A priestess stepped forward; she wore the symbol of Arkay. “As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved—”

“For the love of Talos,” said one of the Stormcloaks as he stepped forward and right up to the block, “shut up and let’s get this over with.”

The priestess was extremely put out by the interruption judging by her body language. “As you wish,” she said stiffly and stepped back out of the way.

“Come on, I haven’t got all morning,” the Stormcloak said cockily.

Smug hesitated for some reason, then walked over and forced him down into position.

“My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?”

The headsman hauled his axe back, held it there for just a second, then slammed it down. The Stormcloak’s head fell off into the wooden box below and I wondered why it was so small in comparison to the number of people they intended to behead. Smug pushed the body aside with her foot.

One of the waiting Stormcloaks shouted, “You Imperial bastards!”

Two of the townsfolk yelled out in support of the execution. Ralof, that blond Nord, said, “As fearless in death as he was in life.”

“Next prisoner!” Smug called.

Another strange roar rang out down the mountainside, that time much closer. I refreshed my invisibility and twisted around so I could look, but nothing was visible.

“There it is again,” List-Holder said. “Did you hear that?”

I worried for the man’s intelligence, to be honest.

Smug said with irritation, “I said, next prisoner!”

List-Holder got himself together and announced, “Vigdis of Shor’s Stone.”

A Nord female took a faltering step forward.

“To the block, prisoner,” List-Holder said almost gently. “Nice and easy.”

She appeared to be murmuring under her breath and moving as slowly as she could manage without the Imperial soldiers hastening her on her way. Could it be that she was hoping that odd roaring sound would become a visible reality and save her somehow?

She was forced into position and the headsman’s axe went up. A large creature swooped by, too quickly to be properly seen.

General Tullius said disbelievingly, “What in Oblivion is that?”

Just then the axe fell and the girl’s head hit the box.

“Sentries!” Smug yelled. “What do you see?”

“It’s in the clouds!”

And then it became clear. The creature—massive, black, and winged—was a dragon, and it had just landed on the tower behind the headsman.

“Dragon!” yelled a soldier.

Just then the dragon shouted something I couldn’t catch, but the immediate result was the fiery death of the headsman. And then fire began raining down from the sky. Chaos erupted as bodies went flying and stones from the walls and towers began to fall and hit the ground.

“Don’t just stand there,” I heard Tullius say, “kill that thing! Guards, get the townspeople to safety!”

I swear, I had never in my life been so frightened, not even—I had also never in my life so quickly summoned Luggage and hauled out a set of armor. Mage robes were all very well, but this needed something a little more. There was so much fire and smoke and noise that I doubted anyone noticed in their haste to flee or fight that beast when I stripped off my usual garb and got into the armor I found in Blackreach as quickly as I could, mask included. As an afterthought I pulled off one of the gauntlets long enough to slide on the ring. Best if it wasn’t known that the Arch-Mage had been running around wearing real armor instead of just mage armor.

I dismissed Luggage because I could not be seen with it (and I was afraid that a dragon’s fire could melt the little guy) and looked for a way to escape the chaos, but there was so much raining down from above and so much smoke that I couldn’t see clearly. I finally just picked a direction and ran for it, praying I was headed in the direction of a gate. Instead I ran into List-Holder, an old man, and the boy from earlier.

“Haming, you need to get over here now!” List-Holder ordered. “Thataboy. You’re doing great! Torolf!”

I had to assume Torolf was the man who had just been roasted.

“Gods—everyone get back!”

The dragon swooped by again breathing yet more fire as it went.

“I don’t know who you are,” List-Holder said to me, “but keep close to me if you want to stay that way. Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense.”

“Gods guide you, Hadvar.”

‘Ah, so that’s his name,’ I thought a bit giddily. I realized I was shaking.

Hadvar took off and I followed, hoping he would lead me to a gate or something similar. We had just reached something akin to an alley when I could see the dragon’s shadow catching up to us. “Stay close to the wall!” Hadvar said, then flattened himself against it.

I did likewise just as the dragon landed on the wall we were plastered against. It bellowed again, but that time I could hear the words.

“ _Vor Toor Shul_!”

Fire started raining down again from above.

“Quickly, follow me!” Hadvar ordered.

‘Vor Toor Shul,’ I thought as I followed, seeing a set of gates ahead. ‘Horror Inferno Sun.’

Soldiers were firing arrows at the beast in vain as we got closer. One girl shrieked out, “Tell my family I fought bravely!”

“Hadvar!” I heard Tullius call. “Into the keep, soldier, we’re leaving!”

Hadvar veered off, but I made for the gates only to find that they were blocked by debris and could not be opened. I turned around quickly and raced off in the direction Hadvar went, and caught up with him.

“It’s you and me, friend, stay close!”

I think we ran clear across the town. What I assumed was the keep came into view, but so did Ralof.

“Ralof! You damned traitor, out of my way!”

“We’re escaping, Hadvar! You’re not stopping us this time.”

“Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde.”

Ralof took off back in the direction we had come from and I just followed Hadvar. I had the feeling he would know better where to go, but who knew? He whipped open the door and ran through, then said, “Looks like we’re the only ones who made it. Was that really a dragon? The bringers of the End Times?”

‘End Times?’

“We should keep moving. That thing is still out there. Come on, this way.”

Along the way (and after having to regrettably kill several Stormcloaks) we came to what was obviously a torture room, where the Imperials were fighting several more Stormcloaks. Hadvar and I joined in and quickly enough killed them. I felt a bit sick at having to do it. They were only trying to escape, too, but they raised weapons against me.

“A torture room,” Hadvar said quietly. “Gods, I wish we didn’t need these.”

“You fellows happened along just in time,” the fellow wearing torturer garb said. “These boys seemed quite upset at how I’d been entertaining their comrades.”

“Don’t you even know what’s going on?” Hadvar nearly shouted. “A dragon is attacking Helgen!”

“A dragon? Please. Don’t make up nonsense. Although, come to think of it, I did hear some odd noises coming from over there.”

I rolled my eyes. ‘Wonderful. The sadistic bastard has been so caught up hurting people he hasn’t been paying attention to anything else. I really hope he dies to that dragon.’

“Come with us,” Hadvar said. “We need to get out of here.”

“You have no authority over me, boy,” the torturer said menacingly.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said the keep is under attack! Oh forget it. Come or not, on your head be it.” He headed off and I followed.

“There’s no way out that way, you know,” the torturer called after us.

Following the stream we came to was a dead end so Hadvar chose a different way. Through a den of spiders.

“What next, giant snakes?” he complained.

A bit farther on Hadvar suddenly stopped and crouched down. “Hold up,” he said as I stopped next to him. “There’s a bear just ahead. See her? I’d rather not tangle with her right now. We might be able to sneak by. Just take it nice and slow, and watch your step. Or if you’re feeling lucky, you can take this bow. Might take her by surprise. Go ahead. I’ll follow your lead and watch your back.”

I was certain at that point that Hadvar was either brain damaged or just so overcome by everything that he came across as stupid. The man had seen me fight. I rolled by eyes and stood up, stepped forward, and blasted the damn thing with fire.

Hadvar seemed surprised for some reason. I took off along the stream running through the cave and toward what I thought had to be the exit, Hadvar following.

“This looks like the way out! I was starting to wonder if we’d ever make it.”

We had just stepped out of the mouth and into daylight when Hadvar ducked down and pulled on my arm. “Wait!”

The dragon flew overhead, its shadow struggling to keep up with it.

“Looks like he’s gone for good this time. But I don’t think we should stick around to see if he comes back. Closest town from here is Riverwood. My uncle’s the blacksmith there. I’m sure he could help you out. I wouldn’t have made it without your help today. Listen, you should go to Solitude and join up with the Imperial Legion. We could really use someone like you. And if the rebels have themselves a dragon, General Tullius is the only one who can stop them.”

###### Before the Storm  
Evening Star, 21st, 4E 201

On the way to Riverwood, after I’d had a chance to completely settle my nerves—wolves along the way? Pfft!—I realized that I had caught some of those other words the dragon had said. Fus—Force. I had watched as it Shouted and saw the ripple effect in the air, and how people went flying. In all actuality, it was Fus Ro Dah—Force Balance Push. The dragon had also breathed fire, a variant on the one it used to rain fire down from the sky. Yol Toor Shul—Fire Inferno Sun.

‘How can I understand all this?’ I asked no one in the privacy of my own mind, while my head nodded of its own accord in response to whatever Hadvar was saying. ‘End Times? Dragons? What does it all mean?’

“See that ruin up there?” Hadvar asked. “Bleak Falls Barrow. When I was a boy, that place always used to give me nightmares. Draugr creeping down the mountain to climb through my window at night, that kind of thing. I admit, I still don’t much like the look of it.”

I rather absentmindedly replied, “There are. Draugr, I mean.”

“You’ve been in there?”

“Yes. There are draugr inside that can Shout like that Jarl from Windhelm.”

“Oh.” He went silent again until we came halfway down a switchback. “These are the Guardian Stones, three of the thirteen ancient standing stones that dot Skyrim’s landscape.”

I nodded and kept on, being careful not to go too fast for him.

“I’m glad you decided to come with me. We’re almost to Riverwood.”

And indeed, just a few minutes later we reached the town.

“Things look quiet enough here. Come on, there’s my uncle. Uncle Alvor! Hello!”

I followed him over to the blacksmith.

“Hadvar? What are you doing here? Are you on leave from—Shor’s bones, what happened to you, boy? Are you in some kind of trouble?

“Shh, uncle,” Hadvar said with quiet intent. “Keep your voice down. I’m fine, but we should go inside to talk.”

“What’s going on?” Alvor asked more quietly. “And who’s this?”

“She’s a friend. Saved my life in fact. Come on, I’ll explain everything, but we need to go inside.”

“Okay, okay,” Alvor conceded. “Come inside, then. Sigrid will get you something to eat and you can tell me all about it.” The three of us went inside, with Alvor calling out, “Sigrid! We have company!”

I must have been really tired because I could not understand why the man was nearly shouting when his wife was standing right there.

“Hadvar! We’ve been so worried about you! Come, you two must be hungry. Sit down and I’ll get you something to eat.”

“Now, then, boy. What’s the big mystery. What were you doing, looking like you lost an argument with a cave bear?”

I nearly snorted at that; it was the cave bear who lost an argument with fire and Hadvar had nothing to do with it. I realized I was still feeling a bit giddy and politely declined when Sigrid tried to serve me some food.

“I don’t know where to start. I was assigned to General Tullius’s guard. We were stopped in Helgen when we were attacked—by a dragon.”

“A dragon? That’s—ridiculous. You aren’t drunk, are you, boy?”

“Husband, let him tell his story,” Sigrid said with a sigh as she hovered there.

“Not much more to tell. This dragon flew over and just wrecked the whole place. Mass confusion. I don’t know if anyone else got out alive. I doubt I’d have made it out if not for my friend here. I need to get back to Solitude and let them know what’s happened. I thought you could help us out. Food, supplies, a place to stay.”

“Of course,” Alvor said almost gaily. “Any friend of Hadvar’s is a friend of mine. I’m glad to help you in any way I can. Like I said, I’m glad to help.”

‘And here it comes.’

“But I need your help. _We_ need your help. The Jarl needs to know there’s a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenseless. . . .” Alvor shot a fiercely protective look his wife’s way. “We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever soldiers he can. If you’ll do that for me, I’ll be in your debt.”

A child I hadn’t even noticed piped up with, “Hadvar, did you really see a dragon? What did it look like? Did it have big teeth?”

“Hush, child,” said Sigrid. “Don’t pester your cousin.”

“Well, I better get back to work,” Alvor said as he hefted himself up from the bench. He was not a man with extra flesh, but he was well muscled from his time at the forge. “You two can make yourselves at home.” He trundled back outside and I could shortly hear the ring of metal on metal.

Hadvar finished off a bottle of mead and said to me, “It’s nice to be back in a friendly spot, huh? Listen, I’m going to lay up here for a while. You can make your own way to Solitude from here. I recommend heading to Whiterun, just down the road from here. From there you can take a carriage to Solitude.”

I honestly did not know what to think at that point. I wasn’t a fugitive, merely an unknown at present, garbed as I was in a raiment of concealing armor. A sidelong look at Sigrid revealed her expression to be of deep worry and not a little fear. The child was unaware of any danger and began pestering Hadvar again. There was no reason for me to stay there, not really, so I slowly stood up. “I’m going to deliver that message,” I said, glad for the mask’s effect on my voice—or perhaps the band had its own effect, as well. “The sooner the better for Riverwood.”

Hadvar and Sigrid both looked relieved. I shook my head when Sigrid tried to press food and drink on me for the trip, and left. As I jogged down the road to Whiterun it came to me that too many people might be aware of my fighting style. I had donned a new look, but—that same look required something different for so long as I wore it.

Summoning atronachs instead of the lich. Switching to shock spells.

When I had delivered the message and was able to go back to my usual in privacy, so would the spells. I cut across the countryside—rather, down the steep hills—as soon as I could to shave time off my journey.

I garnered quite a few looks as I walked quickly through Whiterun toward Dragonsreach through the Cloud District. Urgency was good, but I didn’t want to full on sprint through town. I got the impression that the armor I found and wore was a bit intimidating.

The Jarl’s housecarl, a Dunmer woman named Irileth, certainly seemed to think so, as she drew her weapon on seeing me and approached cautiously. “What’s the meaning of this, interrupting the Jarl’s meeting?”

“Alvor of Riverwood sent me to request aid against the dragon that just destroyed Helgen,” I said flatly.

Her eyes widened and she sheathed her weapon. “I see. The Jarl will want to speak with you personally. Approach.”

When I stepped up to the spot at the base of the low flight of steps leading up to Balgruuf’s throne he said, “What’s this about Riverwood being in danger?”

“A dragon destroyed Helgen. Alvor is afraid Riverwood is next.”

“Alvor? The smith, isn’t he? Reliable, solid fellow. Not prone to flights of fancy. Were you personally at Helgen?”

“Yes. The dragon came from the nearby mountain and caused the sky to rain fire shortly before Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm was to be executed. From what I could see in the resulting chaos many of the buildings were in the process of burning to ruin and the stone walls and towers were being knocked to pieces like a child’s plaything of blocks. It flew off roughly to the northeast and at least one woman in Riverwood saw it flying by overhead.”

The Jarl shifted uneasily in his chair. “I should have guessed Ulfric would be mixed up in this. By Ysmir, Irileth was right! What say you now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?”

“My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once,” Irileth counseled. “It’s in the most immediate danger. If that dragon is lurking in the mountains—”

“The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He’ll assume we’re preparing to join Ulfric’s side and attack him! We should not—”

“Enough!” Balgruuf thundered. “I’ll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people! Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once.”

“Yes, my Jarl.” She immediately turned away to go arrange that.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Proventus said stiffly, “I’ll return to my duties.”

“That would be best,” Balgruuf replied with a noticeable edge to his tone. As Proventus walked away the Jarl turned his attention back to me. “Well done. You sought me out, on your own initiative.”

‘Well, no, not really.’

“You’ve done Whiterun a service, and I won’t forget it. Speak to Proventus in a little while; he will have a small token of my esteem for you. There is another thing you could do for me. Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps. Come, let’s go find Farengar, my court wizard. He’s been looking into a matter related to these dragons and . . . rumors of dragons.”

‘Suitable?’ I thought as the Jarl rose and began to walk to the side rooms where Farengar kept himself. ‘In what sense? All you know I’ve done is escape a dragon-terrorized town and could run here in a timely manner to report about it.’

###### Bleak Falls Barrow  
Evening Star, 21st, 4E 201

“Farengar, I think I’ve found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill her in with all the details.”

Farengar eyed me and adopted a supercilious expression. “So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me? Oh yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons. Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me. Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there.”

‘Oh gods, he really does have a stick up his ass when he’s speaking to strangers, now doesn’t he,’ I thought. ‘He wasn’t this bad the first time I met him. It must be the armor making him worse.’ “What does this tablet have to do with dragons?” I asked, hoping to deflect him from his erroneous assumptions.

“Ah, no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker—perhaps even a scholar? You see, when the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities.”

‘Who had been spreading stories like that?’ I wondered. ‘I’ve never heard any, and I’ve heard a _lot_ of gossip.’

“One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible. But I began to search for information about dragons—where had they gone all those years ago? And where were they coming from?”

“Where is this tablet you’re after?”

“I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow—a ‘Dragonstone’, said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet—no doubt in the main chamber—and bring it to me. Simplicity in itself.”

I nodded. “How do you know this tablet is _in_ Bleak Falls Barrow?”

“Well. Must preserve some professional secrets, mustn’t we?” Farengar said coyly. “I have my sources . . . reliable sources.”

I nodded again. “Securing the tablet will not be a problem. I will return anon,” I said, then left. His source was obviously reliable to a point, but not reliable enough if they didn’t realize someone had already plundered the barrow. I would have to find a place to change so I could enter Elysium as myself, get the stone I’d been using as a damn decoration, and change back before returning to Dragonsreach.

I hastened out of the city and struck out in an as direct as possible route to bring me back up to the road to Riverwood, but diverted as soon as I could to a spot of privacy so I could summon Luggage. I would have to consider keeping my mage gear on me at all times. The pouch I had found ages ago in the Arch-Mage’s quarters had some peculiar properties and would allow for it, and I might not always be able to find a place private enough to summon Luggage and effect the swap.

Properly dressed as myself, I dismissed Luggage and angled back so I could drop down into Elysium from behind. I slipped into the cellar using the trapdoor out back and then up into the house proper. My housecarl gave me his usual greeting from his seat by the fire.

“Hello, Valdimar. I’m only stopping for a moment, I’m afraid. I trust everything has been quiet?”

“Yes, my Thane. Only the usual incursions of wolves and the odd bandit to deal with.”

“Excellent,” I said. “Carry on, then.” I hastened into my bedroom and found the stone, shoved it into my bizarre pouch, and hurried back on out via the front door. I jumped over the wall around the property and hurried back up the steep hill until I found a suitable spot, and after I checked around with my vampiric vision to ensure no one was in range, I swapped robes for the ring and armor again.

I was back at Dragonsreach quickly enough with the Dragonstone in hand. As I came up the steps to the level Farengar’s study was on I could hear him speaking with someone, so I slowed down considerably so I could eavesdrop.

“You see? The terminology is clearly First Era or even earlier. I’m convinced this is a copy of a much older text. Perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War. If so, I could use this to cross-reference the names with the other later texts.”

“Good,” said a female voice; she sounded mature, hardened, confident. “I’m glad you’re making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers.”

“Oh, have no fear. The Jarl himself has finally taken an interest, so I’m now able to devote most of my time to this research.”

“Time is running, Farengar, don’t forget. This isn’t some theoretical question. Dragons have come back.”

“Yes, yes,” he said a bit dismissively. “Don’t worry. Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable. Now, let me show you something else I found—very intriguing—I think your employers may be interested as well. Hmm?”

Farengar had spotted me approaching.

“Ah, yes, the Jarl’s protégé! Back from Bleak Falls Barrow so quickly? You didn’t die, it seems. Ah! The Dragonstone! Seems you are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way.”

The woman with him eyed me from beneath the dubious concealment of her hood; she seemed to be sizing me up.

I refrained from rolling my eyes, or from explaining just how I had obtained the tablet so quickly, and set it gently on the desk.

“My . . . associate here will be pleased to see your handiwork. She discovered its location, by means she has so far declined to share with me. So, your information was correct after all. And we have our friend to thank for recovering it for us.”

“You went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that? Nice work,” the woman said. There was some quality to her words that set me on edge. It made me wonder if she knew just how little time had passed before I had been asked to retrieve it and when I had turned back up with it. To Farengar she said, “Just send me a copy when you’ve deciphered—”


	18. 6.2 Dovahkiin

21042015

## 6.2

###### Dragon Rising  
Evening Star, 21st, 4E 201

“Farengar!” Irileth called, and appeared in the doorway. “Farengar, you need to come at once. A dragon’s been sighted nearby. You should come, too,” she said to me.

“A dragon! How exciting!” Farengar said giddily; he sounded like a child in that moment. “Where was it seen? What was it doing?”

“I’d take this a bit more seriously if I were you,” Irileth said. I noticed the hooded woman quietly slipping away. “If a dragon decides to attack Whiterun I don’t know if we can stop it. Let’s go.”

Irileth led the way to the meeting area upstairs directly behind the throne, where the Jarl kept his map table. A guard was there as well, covered in the stench of pure anxiety.

“So,” the Jarl said, “Irileth tells me you came from the western watchtower.”

‘Near Elysium? Please be safe, Valdimar.’

“Yes, my lord.”

“Tell him what you told me,” Irileth urged. “About the dragon.”

“Uh . . . that’s right. We saw it coming from the south. It was fast—faster than anything I’ve ever seen.”

“What did it do?” Balgruuf asked. “Is it attacking the watchtower?”

“No, my lord. It was just circling overhead when I left. I never ran so fast in my life. I thought it would come after me for sure.”

Balgruuf nodded. “Good work, son. We’ll take it from here. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest. You’ve earned it. Irileth, you’d better gather some guardsmen and get down there.”

‘Why am I here?’ I wondered. ‘All I did was see a dragon, flee from it, and produce a stone tablet.’

“I’ve already ordered my men to muster near the main gate.”

“Good. Don’t fail me. One last thing, Irileth. This isn’t a death or glory mission. I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“Don’t worry, my lord. I’m the very soul of caution,” she replied, then headed out.

The Jarl then turned to me. “There’s no time to stand on ceremony, my friend. I need your help again. I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon. You survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here. But I haven’t forgotten the service you did for me in retrieving the Dragonstone for Farengar. We’ll speak more of that when you return.”

“I should come along,” Farengar said quickly as I turned to leave. “I would very much like to see this dragon.”

“No. I can’t afford to risk both of you. I need you here working on ways to defend the city against these dragons.”

“As you command,” Farengar said rather sulkily.

I caught up with Irileth at the main gates; she was giving her men a pep talk, but it only went so far considering that one of them muttered, “We’re so dead.” Still, for the most part, she knew the kinds of words to say to fire up the average Nord.

“Let’s move out!” Irileth ordered, then ran for the gates.

I made it to a point across the road from the watchtower and ducked behind an outcropping of rocks while I waited. I was sure they were not long behind me, but I took shortcuts they did not seem willing to. The tower itself was damaged and burning—well, the vegetation was burning and sending up huge clouds of bitter smoke. Elysium was perfectly all right, so I looked the other way. I could see Ri’saad and his people jogging down the road toward Markarth and could only hope they’d get far enough along to not be caught up in whatever was to transpire should the dragon return.

‘Dragons breathe fire,’ I thought. ‘Or the one at Helgen did. So ice or shock spells, a frost atronach. . . . The lich would be better, but I can’t risk that. I can conjure a bow if necessary. . . .’

Irileth and the guards interrupted my thoughts by finally arriving. “No signs of any dragon right now, but it sure looks like he’s been here,” Irileth said. “I know it looks bad, but we’ve got to figure out what happened. And if that dragon is skulking around somewhere. Spread out and look for survivors. We need to know what we’re dealing with.”

I made a beeline for the tower itself, and as I hurried up the incline a guard ran out in a panic. “No! Get back! It’s still here somewhere. Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!”

“What happened here?” Irileth demanded. “Where’s this dragon? Quickly now!”

“I don’t know,” the guard wailed, then looked in the direction of the ridge when a horrendous roar sounded. “Kynareth save us, here he comes again!”

I ran down the broken walkway and over to another, jumping up easily and getting a better view. The dragon was gliding in from the south.

“Here he comes!” Irileth shouted. “Find cover and make every arrow count!”

The damn thing kept circling the tower and making strafing runs, either to try to snatch up one of the guards or to bathe everything in its path with fire. I was dismayed to realize that, as I was not wearing my usual gear, I could not cast spells with the casual frequency I normally did. Flinging around Adept-levels spells really did benefit from the enchantments to fortify one’s magicka regeneration.

“You are brave,” I heard the dragon rumble. “Balaan hokoron. Your defeat brings me honor.”

‘Balaan hokoron,’ I thought as I flung more lightning at the dragon. ‘Worthy enemy. Why did it say that while looking at me?’

My atronach was more than useless so long as that thing was in the air, so I did not summon it back when it returned to Oblivion. Instead I prepped bound bow in one hand and cast that instead, giving my magicka a rest. I was not all that good with a bow, but surely I could get some shots to land.

“Brit grah. I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!” the dragon rumbled.

‘Brit grah. Beautiful battle.’ I drew another arrow, sighted, and released. It flew wide because I had not accounted for the dragon’s speed. ‘Damn. The guards are doing a better job at it than I am,’ I thought in dismay. ‘Back to spells, then. Lightning goes so fast it almost always lands.’

“Thurri du hin sille ko Sovngarde!” the dragon rumbled before swooping down and grabbing a guard. The poor bastard was flung halfway to Whiterun in the blink of an eye.

‘My lord will feast on your souls in Sovngarde.’ One of the guards stared at me in disbelief when I just stood there aiming a spell even as the dragon flamed me with his breath. It barely hurt, really, which told me the fire was magical in nature and thus easily mitigated, especially by a Breton with a fair amount of training under her belt.

They sky had grown much darker by the time our combined efforts saw the dragon crash to the ground; one of its wings had been shredded. I immediately summoned a frost atronach and flung more lightning, staying carefully out of range of the beast’s teeth and tail. A part of me wondered why I wasn’t in a screaming panic, but I had been through so many battles already that. . . .

I sent another shock spell and paused when the dragon threw its head back in agony. “ _Dovahkiin_! No!!”

“Let’s make sure that overgrown lizard is really dead,” I heard Irileth say. “Damned good shooting, boys!”

And then it happened, driving me to one knee with the shock of it, the intrusion and violation of my soul. The dragon began to . . . decay, right before our eyes, and a great wind arose along with streams of coloured light, all of it aimed straight at me.

“What’s happening?” a guard cried.

“Everybody, get back!” Irileth shouted.

But I was frozen in place, the recipient of the display. I suddenly understood in exquisite detail the word Fus—Force, in a way I never had before. And how to use it as a weapon. I knelt there trying to wrap my head around the experience and to regulate my breathing. My atronach crumbled out of existence.

“I can’t believe it!” a guard said. “You’re. . . . Dragonborn.”

I slowly stood up and turned to face who spoke, and tilted my head inquiringly. I already knew what he meant—the dragon had seen to that, and a book I had read some time that was only just then becoming intimately relevant—but still. . . .

“In the very oldest tales, back from when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power. That’s what you did, isn’t it? Absorbed that dragon’s power?” When I said nothing he continued, “There’s only one way to find out. Try to Shout. According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way dragons do.”

Another guard piped up with, “Dragonborn? What are you talking about?”

“My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn. Those born with the Dragon Blood in ’em. Like old Tiber Septim himself.”

I tuned them out for the moment, running my mind over the word Fus, how it was like pushing, against a person, a creature, or the world itself. How I could Shout it. I likened it to using a spell, actually, except that I would use my voice instead of a hand.

“What do you say, Irileth? You’re being awfully quiet.”

“Come on, Irileth, tell us, do you believe in this Dragonborn business?”

“Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you don’t know anything about,” she said a bit scathingly. Or maybe she was shook up or frightened. “Here’s a dead dragon, and that’s something I definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them. But I don’t need some mythical Dragonborn. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me.”

“You wouldn’t understand, housecarl. You ain’t a Nord,” one of them said dismissively.

“I’ve been all across Tamriel. I’ve seen plenty of things just as outlandish as this. I’d advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword over tales and legends.”

“If you really are Dragonborn, like out of the old tales,” one of them said to me, “you ought to be able to Shout. Can you? Have you tried?”

‘Well, why not?’ I thought, and turned a bit so no one was immediately in front of me. “ _Fus_!” I Shouted, and still managed to catch one of the guards peripherally with the effect ripple, almost knocking him off his feet.

“By the gods! What manner of power is that?” one guard cried.

‘I take it none of these people have ever witnessed Ulfric Shouting then.’

“That was Shouting, what you just did! Must be. You really are Dragonborn, then.”

Irileth shook her head and addressed me. “That was the hairiest fight I’ve ever been in, and I’ve been in more than a few. I don’t know about this Dragonborn business, but I’m sure glad you’re with us. You better get back to Whiterun right away. Jarl Balgruuf will want to know what happened here.”

Elysium was safe, I could see, but I couldn’t check for sure as I was. I could not afford to have anyone knowing where the Dragonborn lived. I had read that book, heard the legend, listened to the songs. . . . I nodded to Irileth and jumped down from my perch to leave, but paused and looked at the dragon’s skeleton. A quick bit of investigation revealed I could pry loose some pieces, which I did and tucked away. I also grabbed some scales which had fallen to the ground during the decay process. They looked awfully similar to the armor I was wearing—or parts of it. I took off at a run.

I was halfway up the steps to Dragonsreach when a Shout so powerful it shook the world sounded. “ _Dovahkiin_!!” Several guards toppled off their feet and over the edges, into the pools below. I staggered from the force of it, but kept my footing and continued on.

I was met by Proventus. “Good. You’re finally here. The Jarl’s been waiting for you.” He ushered me the rest of the way as though I might bolt at any moment.

“You heard the summons,” the Jarl was saying wonderingly to no one in particular. “What else could it mean? The Greybeards. . . .”

“We were just talking about you,” Hrongar said. “My brother needs a word with you.”

‘And isn’t that why Proventus is guiding me along like a small child?’ I thought.

Balgruuf spotted me finally and said, “So what happened at the watchtower? Was the dragon there?”

“Yes,” I said, intending to keep my words brief. “The watchtower was badly damaged, but the dragon was defeated.”

“I knew I could count on Irileth,” he said. “But there must be more to it than that.”

I sighed as invisibly as I could. “The men with us called me Dragonborn.”

“Not just the men,” Balgruuf replied. “The Greybeards seem to think the same thing. You—you absorbed power from the beast?”

“Yes.”

“So it’s true. The Greybeards really were summoning you.”

The only thing I could recall of the Greybeards was that Ulfric had supposedly trained with them for a time in his youth; beyond that, not much. “They are?”

“Masters of the Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World. The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice—the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu’um, or Shout. If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift.”

“Didn’t you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun?” Hrongar asked. “That was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar! This hasn’t happened in . . . centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora!”

“Hrongar, calm yourself,” Proventus said dismissively. “What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here? Capable as she may be, I don’t see any signs of her being this, what, ‘Dragonborn’.”

“Nord nonsense? Why you puffed-up, ignorant—these are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!”

Balgruuf interceded wearily. “Don’t be so hard on Avenicci.”

“I mean no disrespect, of course,” Proventus said.

‘Yes, you did,’ I thought. ‘Or you’re scared halfway out of your smalls.’

“It’s just that—what do these Greybeards want with her?”

“That’s the Greybeards’ business, not ours,” Balgruuf replied. “Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they think you’re Dragonborn, who are we to argue? You’d better get up to High Hrothgar immediately. There’s no refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It’s a tremendous honor. I envy you, you know,” he said a bit wistfully.

“To climb the seven thousand steps again. . . . I made the pilgrimage once, did you know that? High Hrothgar is a very peaceful place. Very . . . disconnected from the troubles of this world. I wonder if the Greybeards even notice what’s going on down here. They haven’t seemed to care before.” He shook his head. “No matter. Go to High Hrothgar. Learn what the Greybeards can teach you.

“And—you’ve done a great service to me and my city, Dragonborn. By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It’s the greatest honor that’s within my power to grant. I assign you Lydia as a personal housecarl, and this weapon from my armory to serve as your badge of office.”

Proventus was quick to hand over an axe. Feeling out the enchantment on it could wait.

“I’ll also notify my guards of your new title. Wouldn’t want them to think you’re part of the common rabble, now would we?”

His manner invited me to chuckle, though I did not.

“We are honored to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn. Also, about the reward I spoke of earlier. There is a furnished house here in Whiterun, unused. I am gifting it to you. Lydia can show you were it is.”

Proventus handed over a key.

“Well, back to business, Proventus. We still have a city to defend.”

“Yes, my lord.”

I took that as my dismissal and turned away. A woman was waiting for me near the doors to the city. “My Thane,” she said. “I am Lydia, your housecarl.”

I nodded and said quietly, “Show me to this house the Jarl spoke of.”

“Yes, my Thane,” she replied, and led the way.

It was about then that I realized my voice had changed again a little. There was an unconscious rumble of power hiding in it. I couldn’t be sure if anyone else could hear it, though, or if it was just my long-standing familiarity that made it stand out. I glanced at Jorrvaskr as we went by. I would have to avoid the place when playing Dragonborn. Aela might well figure it out.

The house turned out to be called Breezehome and was right next door to the smithy. It was already fully furnished, which helped, though I would not have cared if it wasn’t. It gave the Dragonborn a “home base” in Whiterun. I looked around inside and nodded. “We will set out for High Hrothgar in the morning. You’re free to do as you wish until then.”

She said, “Yes, my Thane,” and wandered off upstairs.

I took a seat by the firepit to think. The trip to see the Greybeards would tell me a lot about Lydia. My first impression of her was not good. She was stiff and seemed to have a chip on her shoulder. Time would tell. On the way perhaps I could use bound weapons to do some soul trapping for me—I was fairly certain I was proficient enough that that would work. Or I could just keep buying them. Either way, I needed to really work enchanting now, what with being stuck wearing plain armor.

###### The Way of the Voice  
Evening Star, 22nd, 4E 201

We made it to Ivarstead in good time and with almost no trouble at all on the road—we rode, and had not bothered to stop for the ubiquitous wolves along the way—but it was already mid-afternoon and I wasn’t sure how long it would take to climb to the peak. I bespoke rooms at the Vilemyr Inn and spent the evening quietly, with me prompting Lydia to explain to me the details about being a Thane, Whiterun in general, and so forth, not because I needed to know, but to further the idea in her head—and for anyone listening in—that I had no idea. After that I let her do as she wanted while I read a book before getting some rest.

###### Evening Star, 23rd, 4E 201

We headed out fairly early, buying some supplies from Wilhelm first. At the bridge leading over the river and to the path upward we came across two men talking. The one, Klimmek, was set to journey up to bring supplies to the Greybeards, but I offered to do it for him since I was going anyway. He was grateful to not have to make the climb again so soon.

‘What in Oblivion?’ Partway up a bear nosed out and attacked, which was fine. I summoned a flame atronach and started arcing lightning at it—but then I realized, Lydia just stood back there, staring at nothing. Was she a coward?

The next time we ran across hostile wildlife I saw arrows added to the mix, so I knew she was participating. But really? She was wearing steel plate armor. Why was she hanging back and using a bow? ‘Am I moving too fast for her to keep up?’ I wondered. I slowed down to a speed far closer to normal human, but she still never did more than use her bow.

It took almost four hours to make the climb at that speed. I dropped off the supplies in the huge chest Klimmek had mentioned, then headed up the last set of stairs and opened the doors.

Inside was somber, almost holy. The ceilings were tall and the level of light was fairly low, coming only from braziers and small windows high up. A person dressed in enveloping grey hooded robes approached me.

“So, a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age.”

“You did summon me,” I replied, and I admit my voice was a bit stiff; the underlying rumble of power seemed a bit more pronounced, as well.

“We will see if you truly have the gift. Show us, Dragonborn. Let us taste of your voice.” As he had been speaking, three others dressed in the same robes had gathered.

Though I knew many words, I did not yet have that innate understanding of them as I did Fus, provided by that dragon. I gathered I would have to kill and absorb more to develop further. That being so, I turned to the side slightly and Shouted, “ _Fus_!” Pottery went flying and some of the Greybeards staggered.

“Dragonborn.” He sounded pleased, perhaps relieved. “It is you. Welcome to High Hrothgar. I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?”

One of my brows went up. I had to assume there was more to that question than letting me know the man suffered from short-term memory issues. “I know that I am hardly the first Dragonborn in history, but also that those before me came here as well. What is it you do here?”

“We are the Greybeards, followers of the Way of the Voice. You stand in High Hrothgar, on the slopes of Kynareth’s sacred mountain. Here we commune with the voice of the sky, and strive to achieve balance between our inner and outer selves. You are correct that you are not the first. There have been many of the Dragon Blood since Akatosh first bestowed that gift upon mortalkind.”

“I am ready to learn,” I stated, without saying exactly what I planned to take from any lessons.

Arngeir nodded. “You have shown that you are Dragonborn. You have the inborn gift. But do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out for you? That remains to be seen. Without training, you have already taken the first steps toward projecting your Voice into a Thu’um, a Shout. Now let us see if you are willing and able to learn.

“When you Shout, you speak in the language of the dragons. Thus, your Dragon Blood gives you an inborn ability to learn Words of Power. All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power. As you master each Word, your Shout will become progressively stronger. Master Einarth will now teach you ‘Ro’, the second Word in Unrelenting Force. ‘Ro’ means ‘balance’ in the dragon tongue. Combine it with Fus—Force—to focus your Thu’um more sharply.”

One of the monks stepped forward and whispered at the floor. “ _Ro_. . . .” Despite it being so soft it etched the word into the stone floor, in the same writing as found on the word walls.

I stepped closer to examine it, assuming the same thing as always would happen. Indeed, it did. Streams of light emerged and came to me, and with them, the word: Ro—Balance.

“You learn a new word like a master—you truly do have the gift. But learning a Word of Power is only the first step. You must unlock its meaning through constant practice in order to use it in a Shout. Well,” he admitted, “that is how the rest of us learn Shouts. As Dragonborn, you can absorb a slain dragon’s life force and knowledge directly. As part of your initiation, Master Einarth will allow you to tap into his understanding of ‘Ro’.”

Einarth faced me directly and bowed slightly, as if in prayer. From him came more streams of light, imparting to me the meaning just as if I had absorbed another dragon. I found it . . . peculiar . . . that I seemed to receive so little from an entire dragon, actually. I nodded my thanks to Master Einarth.

“Now let us see how quickly you can master your new Thu’um. Use your Unrelenting Force Shout to strike the targets as they appear.”

One of the other two monks straightened up, so I stepped back a little, unsure what he meant to do. “ _Fiik Lo Sah_!” In the center of the room appeared an ethereal copy of the monk.

I eyed it for a moment, then Shouted. “ _Fus Ro_!” The phantom form disappeared. ‘Fiik Lo Sah—Mirror Deceive Phantom. Interesting, but not necessarily incredibly useful.’

“Well done. Again,” Arngeir said.

Einarth Shouted next. “ _Fiik Lo Sah_!

And again I Shouted, “ _Fus Ro_!”

“You learn quickly.” Was that fear I detected in his voice, for all that he reminded me strongly of Tolfdir in some ways? “Once more,” he said encouragingly.

The final monk created his phantom form and I dealt with it just as quickly as the others.

“Impressive. Your Thu’um is precise. You show great promise, Dragonborn. We will perform your next trial in the courtyard. Follow Master Borri.”

Before I did that I turned back to Lydia. “Please wait here.”

“Yes, my Thane.”

‘Oh great, attitude now. Could you have sounded any more sulky?’ I turned back and caught up with Borri and followed him to the courtyard out back.

Once we were all in place Arngeir said, “We will now see how you learn a completely new Shout. Master Borri will—wait. I can sense that you have already learned Wuld. No matter. Master Borri will teach you the next Word of Whirlwind Sprint, Nah, which means Fury.”

“ _Nah_. . . .”

As before the word appeared in the stone beneath our feet, and as before I acquired it with no trouble.

“Master Borri will gift you his knowledge of ‘Wuld’.” Half a minute later he continued, “Now we will see how quickly you can master a new Shout. Master Wulfgar will demonstrate Whirlwind Sprint. Then it will be your turn. Master Borri?”

Wulfgar had moved to a spot between two short stone pillars. Well in front of his position was a metal gate between two tall stone supports, and behind the gate was another pillar, that one about three feet high.

Borri had moved to stand next to the gate itself. “ _Bex_!”

The gate swung open. “ _Wuld Nah Kest_!” Wulfgar Shouted, and fairly well flew the distance to the pillar at the back, the gate closing again after he had passed through.

‘Bex—Open. I wonder if that’d work on locks. Somehow I don’t think Arngeir would tell me if I asked.’

“Now it is your turn. Stand next to me,” Arngeir said. “Master Borri will open the gate. Use your Whirlwind Sprint to pass through before it closes.”

I took my place and nodded to Borri, and when he opened the gate, I Shouted, “ _Wuld_!” ‘Now that’s odd,’ I thought from my new position. ‘I went as fast as Wulfgar did, but with only one third of the Shout.’ I turned around and walked back to Arngeir.

“Your quick mastery of a new Thu’um is—astonishing. I’d heard the stories of the abilities of Dragonborn, but to see it for myself. . . .”

I could detect traces of fear, envy, and dismay in his scent and the look in his eyes, despite the actual words he chose. He really did sound so much like Tolfdir, but he lacked the utterly guileless quality the Master-Wizard had. “I don’t know how I do it. It just happens.” What more could I say? I wasn’t about to tell him of all the word walls I’d already encountered and learned from. I just kept stumbling over the damn things. Divine intervention, perhaps? Akatosh giving me nudges?

“You were given this gift by the gods for a reason. It is up to you to figure out how best to use it. You are now ready for your last trial,” he informed me. “Retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav. Remain true to the Way of the Voice, and you will return.”

‘So I’ll have to use at least one Shout,’ I thought. “I hate to sound conceited, but do you think the dragons returning is related to my emergence as Dragonborn?”

“No doubt. The appearance of a Dragonborn at this time is not an accident. Your destiny is surely bound up with the return of the dragons. You should focus on honing your Voice, and soon your path will be made clear.”

I really did not like mystics.

“Some believe that Dragonborn are sent into the world by the gods, at times of great need. We will speak more of that later, when you are ready.”

‘And you’ll be the one deciding when I’m ready, I suppose.’ “There are just the four of you?”

“Five. Our leader, Paarthurnax, lives alone on the peak of the Throat of the World. When your voice can open the path, you will know you are ready to speak to him.”

‘Also up to you, despite what you say aloud.’ “Will you tell me about the Greybeards?”

“We study the Way of the Voice, according to the teachings of our founder, Jurgen Windcaller. Very few are permitted to study with us here at High Hrothgar. But in your case, Dragonborn, it is a privilege to guide you toward mastery of your Voice.”

“And the Way of the Voice?”

“The Voice was a gift of the goddess Kynareth, at the dawn of time. She gave us mortals the ability to speak as dragons do. Although this gift has often been misused, the only true use of the Voice is for the worship and glory of the gods. True Mastery of the Voice can only be achieved when your inner spirit is in harmony with your outward actions. In the contemplation of the sky, Kynareth’s domain, and the practice of the Voice, we strive to achieve this balance.”

I frowned slightly. “But I am not a follower of that philosophy. Why help me learn the Voice?”

“The Dragonborn is an exception to all the rules—the Dragon Blood itself is a gift from the gods. If we accept one gift, how can we deny the other? As Dragonborn, you have received the ability to Shout directly from Akatosh. We therefore seek to guide you on the proper use of your gift, which transcends the restrictions which bind other mortals.”


	19. 6.3 Dovahkiin

21042015-22042015

## 6.3

###### The Horn of Jurgen Windcaller  
Evening Star, 23rd, 4E 201

Arngeir was kind of enough to mark my map with the rough location of Ustengrav. It was mostly northeast of Morthal—and Movarth’s Lair, actually. There was a path leading higher up the mountain directly across from the doors we had come out of, but there was a swirling mass of wind through the archway up there, and in any case, Arngeir had said a Shout was required to go on.

I looked up at the sky and judged it was around noon, perhaps an hour past, so I went back inside and found Lydia. “If you’ve not already eaten, go ahead. We’ll head back down as soon as you’ve finished. The Greybeards have given me a task, but we’ll return to Whiterun first.”

We were off a short time later. Going down the mountain was faster, thankfully. We had scared off or killed anything that would menace us on the way up. It was dark when we arrived at Whiterun so I dismounted and started up to the city. In a fit of playfulness I used Whirlwind Sprint to hurry myself along. I was almost to the gates when a guard stopped me and asked me to please not Shout like that as it upset and scared the citizens. I told him quite seriously that it would not happen again, then Shouted again to get that much closer to the gates.

###### Evening Star, 24th, 4E 201

Two steps out of Breezehome and two masked persons approached. “You there! You’re the one they call the Dragonborn?”

Well now. “Yes.”

“Your lies fall on deaf ears, Deceiver. The True Dragonborn comes—you are but his shadow. When Lord Miraak appears all shall bear witness. None shall stand to oppose him!”

‘For the love of Kyne,’ I thought, then blinked when they actually dared to attack. Inside the city! I summoned an atronach, shocked the stuffing out of them with lightning, amused myself listening to Lydia yell, “Skyrim is for the Nords!” and appreciated that the guards joined in on the fun.

Once the two were dead I searched through their clothing, taking both sets of armor for myself as a souvenir of how bizarre my life was, and found a note.

> Board the vessel Northern Maiden docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn before she reaches Solstheim.
> 
> Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased.

“News sure gets around fast,” I commented, then handed the note to Lydia so she could read it. I thanked the guards for their assistance and they assured me they would deal with the bodies. Lydia handed the note back without comment, so I tucked it away to add to my collection of assassination orders. “I wonder at the odds that these kooks will keep showing up and trying to kill me.” ‘And,’ I thought, ‘if it’s so important to kill me, does that mean I’m the only one who can kill their master?’

As we exited the gates and set out I paused, deciding to let Lydia carry one of the cultist outfits I had grabbed. I had every intention of putting one on a mannequin at Elysium. “Hold onto this one for me,” I said, holding out the gear.

She replied, slowly, reluctantly, “I am sworn to carry your burdens, my Thane,” and accepted the armor.

‘What is with the attitude?’ I thought. Had she been forced into being a housecarl? Committed some indiscretion that this ended up being the penance for? I would take her on the trip for the horn, but if her attitude did not improve I would leave her at Breezehome thereafter and she could collect messages for me.

I turned away without a word and set off at a jog. I didn’t want to drag the trip out so I cut across the wilds toward Labyrinthian. It was a fair few minutes before I heard Lydia saying, “May I know why you conceal your face, my Thane?”

Something about her voice startled me; she sounded almost chirpy. I stopped and turned to look at her. On her face was the cultist mask I had handed her. “I don’t have a problem answering that question,” I said after a few moments, then turned and began jogging again. “But I would like to hear why you think I do.”

A few minutes later she said, sounding altogether too pleased with herself, “I have no idea.”

Right. Horse chose that moment to find me so I stopped and turned to Lydia. “Okay. I’ll take that armor back now.” She seemed a bit disappointed at that, but she removed the mask and handed it all over. I loaded both sets into Horse’s saddlebags and set off again. I was starting to seriously think the outfits were cursed in some way. Blech. Next thing I knew I’d have put one on a mannequin and it’d start walking around my cellar. Or trying to kill me.

“I wear a mask so people don’t know who I am, simple as that,” I told her.

“But why, my Thane?” she persisted, back to sounding a bit sulky.

“I have a life, and I’d like to be able to return to it at some point. If everyone knows who I am, that’d never happen. My life is on hold right now. I already have mad cultists after me. Do you really think I’d want the people I care about in danger just because they knew me?”

“But you’re a hero of legend!”

I glanced skyward in disbelief. Bloody Nords. “I’m a little short for a hero, don’t you think?” I said sarcastically.

“No one will ever remember that,” she said confidently.

‘Gods help me.’

We got to Labyrinthian and were rewarded with a raging blizzard for our trouble. Thankfully, all we had to do was cut straight across, more or less, and out the other side. Bromjunaar would be a lovely holiday spot, I’m sure, in the summer. Stay and see the native trolls in their natural habitat! From Labyrinthian the tomb should be straight ahead some distance, assuming the blizzard didn’t get even worse and I didn’t crash headlong into a damn tree.

Eventually we made it to Morthal. After a very quick stop at the inn to warm up a little, but mostly to get some food into Lydia, we continued on, and eventually I ran across one of those underground barrows shaped like what I suspected were dragon mounds. I could see the Blue Palace in the distance, a bit off to my left as I faced the barrow.

“Why are there always bandits?” I muttered. “Does the average bandit stumble over a tomb and go, ‘Hey, this looks like a fabulous place to live! I’ll go get six of my best friends and we’ll move here. And maybe for kicks we’ll go grave robbing.’ Seriously, they’re all mad.”

“It’s disgraceful,” Lydia said passionately, “plundering tombs of the honored dead.”

‘Oh, thanks, Lydia, for warning those bandits we’re over here and all that.’ I quickly summoned an atronach and started sending arcs of lightning their way. Lydia ran off into the thick of things, swinging her sword, and I just rolled my eyes and moved to a better position. Stupid girl kept getting in the way of my shots. At least Valdimar was savvy enough to work with a mage, not actively getting in the way all the damn time.

There were a lot of corpses inside the tomb, but that was not unexpected. As I moved deeper inside I could hear people talking, though hearing the actual words was difficult due to the sounds Lydia’s armor kept making every time she so much as twitched.

They were necromancers. Lydia finally stayed still and I could hear what they were saying. They were necromancers, and what were they doing? Using their eeeevil powers to thrall the idiot bandits camped outside to . . . yes? Mine ore.

‘Oh dear gods,’ I thought. I stood up, scuttled closer in the blink of an eye, and Shouted. “ _Fus Ro_!” The necromancers lost their footing and fell to the floor. I summoned an atronach and started in as Lydia came charging up to help. The silly necromancers tried to kill me with spells. I am so resistant to hostile magic it’s not funny—well, I found it funny, because I laugh in the face of such attempts.

Deeper into the tomb we ran across more necromancers, this lot fighting some draugr. I heard one of them Shout, “ _Fus Ro Dah_!”

‘Wonderful, a Deathlord.’ I flung out an arm to hold Lydia back from charging and said quietly, “Let them fight it out and we’ll mop up what’s left. Conserve your strength.”

“Yes, my Thane,” she said sulkily.

‘For someone who is supposedly sworn to protect my life, she sure is keen on racing into battle so she can go out in a blaze of glory,’ I thought. ‘Or is she trying to impress me with her adherence to cultural norms?’ “You ever fought a Deathlord before?”

She shook her head.

“Okay, let me explain something to you, then. One of them hits you with that Shout? You go flying and may crack your head open like an egg against the nearest wall or snap your neck or spine. Not such a nice way to go. Some of them are weaker than others, true, but you should be expecting the worst. Some of them can disarm you with a Shout. Some of them can breathe frost at you, but you’re a Nord, so that shouldn’t be as much of an issue as having your blade flung across the room. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

She nodded, slowly.

“Okay. Sounds like it’s calmed down in there. Let’s go.” I dropped my arm and moved forward so I could peer around the corner. Two necromancer corpses decorated the floor and I could hear the draugr somewhere out of sight. “I only hear one of them,” I whispered back to Lydia, “but that doesn’t mean much.” I continued on and saw it and immediately shot fire its way, knowing it was the best spell to use. There were more behind it so I aimed and dropped a flame atronach back there to help out.

“That . . . looks like a trap,” I said, eyeing the oddly-designed floor panels we eventually came to. “Stay here for a moment,” I told Lydia. “In fact, back up a bit. I’m going to try something.” She complied and I stepped onto one of the panels, then immediately jumped back. Sure enough, fire blasted up from the holes in the panel. “All right.” I poked around in my pouch feeling for the potions that dealt with resistance and found some with the right labels.

After pulling them out I handed them to Lydia. “These are for fire resistance. One minute each. This is still going to hurt. So, here’s what we do. I go first, find the way, you drink one down and follow my path.”

She nodded and tucked all but one away, keeping the single bottle ready.

There was really no hope for it, because despite being in a massive cavern (and it was quite beautiful in a bleak kind of way) I could see it was the only way forward. I could not fly, nor was I immune to hitting the ground at high speeds from high heights and splattering over a wide area. Well, I could see a way down to the cavern floor involving a lot of jumping and some sliding, but Lydia was not so blessed as I. So, fire tiles it was.

Beyond that—and after I had healed Lydia—we continued on down a narrow, and in places steep, pathway. To the right was an area up some steps, with an odd glow, but I ignored that for the moment. There was also an area with some skeletons roaming around, and an area with a dais, an ornate chair, six tables with benches—I was at a loss. “Why could anyone possibly need a meeting room in a damn tomb?” I muttered.

But of more importance was the word wall I could see even farther below. I could hear the faint sound of chanting, which meant it held a new word for me. I sprinted on down the pathway and got to the wall in record time: Feim—Fade.

I sprinted back up, passing Lydia on the way, and turned my attention to that glowing area. I could go explore the other areas that presented themselves, but it would only be the usual loot, I imagined. Besides, this was the tomb of someone revered by the Greybeards. It would feel a bit sacrilegious to loot the place.

Lydia caught back up, puffing with effort, so I waited until she was back to normal before walking toward the glow. After taking care of a couple of skeletons lurking that way I inspected things. Three odd little pillars, rather like the totems I’d seen in many a Nordic tomb, but at the same time not at all like them. The grooves etched into them glowed red. Up ahead was a series of gates, three to match the three pillars, I assumed.

I stepped up to the first pillar and startled slightly when a weird sound rang out. At the same time the pillar glowed brighter and the first gate rose. I walked forward slowly and as I reached the second pillar the same thing happened, with the second gate rising. But as I approached the third one the first gate fell. ‘So it’s timed.’

I went back to the first pillar and beyond it, letting everything reset itself. “Okay, a test,” I said. “Lydia, just stay there for now. I need to try a few things.”

“Yes, my Thane.”

‘Oh, now we’re back to being sulky. Wonderful.’ I rolled my eyes and eyed the path between the stones. First test, a sprint. I set myself, took a breath, and ran, straight into the first gate, which had dropped just before I could get through it. The other two dropped in succession. ‘A Shout it is, then.’

I went back and waited for things to reset, then sprinted again, and Shouted, “ _Wuld_!” as I hit the third pillar. That time I made it through. I waited a few moments, but the gates stayed up, so I waved for Lydia to join me.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Lydia said.

‘What, was it the fire floor or the thick webbing that gave you a hint?’

Beyond the fire and spiders the size of—okay, they weren’t quite as big as mammoths—I saw a doorway, which I went through, to see a set of steps leading down. At the bottom was a narrow path surrounded by water on either side. At the end was a platform level with the path, a dais, with a casket atop it.

I didn’t sense anything moving down there. In fact, I could pick out two fallen draugr near the sarcophagi they probably emerged from. I slowly descended the steps and walked the path, starting again when the waters to either side began burbling and the whole room shook like a dragon had just landed. 

I stopped dead and waited, prepared to spring backward, but all that happened was carved pillar-like things came up to line the path. They were very similar to the decorations on the walls to either side of the casket, in fact.

I headed forward again and was dismayed to realize that atop the casket was not the expected horn, but what looked to be a rolled up piece of parchment. I kept my pace steady and made it to the dais with no more scares, so I stepped up and snatched the roll from its place. Nothing happened.

> #### Dragonborn—
> 
> I need to speak to you. Urgently.
> 
> Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I'll meet you.
> 
> #### —A friend

“Wonderful,” I muttered. Whoever had left the note was either extremely strong to be able to force open a “secret” door—I assumed there was one, anyway, because there usually was—and then get it back into place on the way out, or had help in getting past the triple gate to come the long way around. Or was strong enough to force those gates up long enough to slip underneath them, one at a time. And sneaky enough, or had enough invisibility potions, to have sneaked by all the bandits and necromancers and draugr.

I tucked the note away with a sigh and went through the door at the back of the room. To the left was a tunnel, so I headed that way, eventually ending up, after pulling a lever to open a “secret” door, back near the entrance to Ustengrav.

After way too much dithering around in the dark I finally spotted the Blue Palace again, and headed that way. We had a “refreshing” and “brisk” swim across the mouth of the river and we ended up on the road to the docks. I could have gone into town, but I couldn’t stay at my house, and I was none too keen on the Winking Skeever, either.

I could get a carriage, but I was in no damn hurry to climb back up that mountain again once I got back to Ivarstead after retrieving the horn. ‘Maybe I’ll just ditch Lydia in Whiterun and go to Riften, spend some time with Brynjolf.’ A wet plop on my head decided me. It had started raining, so the Winking Skeever it was.

The bard was singing that damn song again, so I quickly bespoke rooms and retreated upstairs.

###### Evening Star, 25th, 4E 201

It was still raining in the morning, but it stopped before we made it as far as the stables. I opted for a carriage ride to Whiterun, and once we arrived I told Lydia, “You’re dismissed for now. Just collect any messages that may arrive for me and I’ll read them when I get back.”

She seemed both relieved and displeased, but right then I simply didn’t care. It was late and it was already getting dark, so I didn’t have far to go to find a suitable place to revert my appearance, then head over to Elysium.

###### Evening Star, 26th, 4E 201

As it turned out, I was proficient enough with bound weaponry for them to cast soul trap for me. Unfortunately, my delight in that information was soured when the roar of a dragon came to my ears, but at least I was nowhere near any people or towns when it spotted me and changed course. I killed it with the help of a summons, but it wasn’t what I’d call easy. The dragon moved fast even on the ground and very thought of being snatched up in its jaws. . . .

I headed home after that encounter and worked more on my enchanting.

###### Morning Star, 1st, 4E 202

The past week had seen some accomplishments. I finally managed to spend enough steady time working at enchanting that I could place two enchantments per item. I happily repaired to the desk in the cellar to plan out how to enchant the armor I found in Blackreach, then spent another evening taking care of that.

One of my trips into Whiterun was as the Dragonborn instead of as myself. I checked in with Lydia and was most displeased to see that one of the letters awaiting me was from Ulfric Stormcloak, inviting me to join his glorious cause in freeing Skyrim from the yoke of oppression laid down by the Empire and the Thalmor. I dictated a polite refusal to Lydia and had her send it off. Better it be her handwriting than mine.

But after I had managed to unload all of my efforts—Belethor told me they were selling like mad, though who had started the trend of using waterbreathing-enchanted jewelry to fish like an Argonian. . . .

But, with enchantments to give me some assistance I decided it was time to investigate that damn note, so I headed to Riverwood, to the Sleeping Giant Inn. Even before I stepped inside I knew there was no attic room, but the innkeeper obviously had some connection. Perhaps once I made a fool of myself asking for a room that didn’t exist a message would go out letting the thief know I was waiting for contact.

“You’re that visitor, been pokin’ around,” an older Breton woman said to me. Her voice sounded almost familiar.

‘Really? Have I?’ I thought, eyeing her. It was hard to say because Skyrim seemed to age people prematurely, but she might have been in her fifties. Still in excellent shape, however, especially for someone who worked an inn. “Some damn fool raved about the privacy of your attic room here, but I can’t see how that’s possible. Got some other room to rent me, then?”

Her brow went up. “Attic room, eh? True. . . we don’t have an attic room, but you can have the one on the left. Make yourself at home.” She gestured toward the door in question, but unlike other innkeeps, she did not actually walk me to it.

I went ahead and opened the door and glanced inside; nothing out of the ordinary. I had not bothered to stop in Riverwood the last time so I was mostly unfamiliar with the town except for the smithy. I went to the bar and ordered some wine, then strolled back to the room and slipped a book off the table to read. I sat down and opened the book, prepared to wait.

It didn’t take long. The innkeeper wandered over casually and stepped into the room. “So you’re the Dragonborn I’ve been hearing so much about,” she said quietly. “I think you’re looking for this.” She fetched something out of her pouch and offered it up, the presumed Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. As I accepted it she said, “We need to talk. Follow me.”

The book went back on the table and I got up to follow her. She told Orgnar to hold down the fort and led me into the room opposite the one I’d paid for, asking me to close the door behind me. After I did she opened a wardrobe—it had a false back like the one at that house in Windhelm—and disappeared inside.

Downstairs was a cozy little room with a large table, shelves flush with ingredients and potions, an alchemy lab, a training dummy, weapon racks. . . . A hideaway for someone who meant to keep in shape.

“The Greybeards seem to think you’re the Dragonborn. I hope they’re right,” she said after moving to the far side of the table and leaning over to rest her hands on the surface.

‘A way to show non-hostile intent?’ “Yes,” was all I said.

“I hope so. But you’ll forgive me if I don’t assume that something’s true just because the Greybeards say so. I just handed you the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Does that make me Dragonborn, too?”

“No, just clever. What do you want with me?”

“I didn’t go to all this trouble on a whim. I needed to make sure it wasn’t a Thalmor trap. I am not your enemy. I already gave you the horn.” The tone of her voice was increasing in either real or calculated desperation. “I’m actually trying to help you. I just need you to hear me out.”

“I’m listening.”

“Like I said in my note, I’ve heard that you might be the Dragonborn. I’m part of a group that’s been looking for you—well, someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you any more, I need to make sure I can trust you.”

I held back a sigh of irritation. “I don’t need to prove anything to you. Time for me to go.”

She frowned, hands still flat on the table. “I shouldn’t let you walk out of here, knowing what you know. But I guess even my paranoia has its limits. You know where to find me when you change your mind. Because you will. You have to.”

More desperation. My brow went up. “I have other commitments to deal with before whatever need you have has anything approaching priority. Aside from being a thorn in my side you have shown some measure of trust here.” I nodded toward her hands. “I don’t _have_ to do anything, but I will be back to hear you out properly.” With that I departed for Ivarstead and High Hrothgar.

The Greybeards were happy to see me return and accepted the horn. I rather wondered if one of them would return it to the tomb where it belonged. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that some random innkeeper had managed to get in there to “borrow” it. I was taught and given understanding for the final Word for Unrelenting Force: Dah—Push.

Then I was asked to stand at the center of the entrance hall while the four of them Shouted at me in some ceremony.

“Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu’ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau. Naal Thu’umu, mu ofan nii nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth. Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok.”

It was a bit dodgy keeping my footing, but it was fine. I asked Arngeir afterward about it, mainly because I was feeling too lazy to bother trying to puzzle out the meaning personally.

“We spoke the traditional words of greeting to a Dragonborn who has accepted our guidance,” he said.

‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ I thought.

“The same words were used to greet the young Talos, when he came to High Hrothgar, before he became the Emperor Tiber Septim. This is a rough translation: Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon. By our breath we bestow it now to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of Old. You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North, hearken to it.”

‘Ysmir, Dragon of the North, huh? Another damn title!’

###### A Blade in the Dark  
Morning Star, 2nd, 4E 202

I returned to Delphine and went down into her little hiding spot with her. She took up that same non-hostile position on the far side of the table.

“So, Thalmor traps and paranoia aside, what need have you for a Dragonborn?”

“Dragons aren’t just coming back, they’re coming back to life. They weren’t gone somewhere all these years. They were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now something’s happening to bring them back to life. And I need you to help me stop it.”

“And part of that involved getting the Dragonstone from Bleak Falls Barrow?”

“Clever of you to have made the connection,” she said, a hint of approval colouring her voice.

“I can’t think of any way to truly raise the dead. What makes you think dragons are coming back to life? Surely some of them managed to hide. It all sounds a bit crazy.”

“Ha. A few years ago, I said almost the same thing to a colleague of mine. Well, it turned out he was right and I was wrong. But I know they’re coming back to life. I’ve visited their ancestral mounds and found them empty.”

I flashed back to that skeletal dragon and its mound at Saarthal.

“And I’ve figured out where the next one will come back to life. We’re going to go there, and you’re going to kill that dragon. If we succeed, I’ll tell you anything you want to know. The Dragonstone you retrieved was a map of ancient burial sites. I’ve looked at which ones are now empty. The pattern is pretty clear. It seems to be spreading from the southeast, starting in the Jerall Mountains near Riften. The one near Kynesgrove is next if the pattern holds.”

“All right. But if your predecessors killed them all once, why are you looking for a Dragonborn?”

“We remember what most don’t—that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragon slayer. You’re the only one who can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul. Can you do it? Can you devour a dragon’s soul?”

I sighed in irritation. “Yes, Delphine, I can, and I have. You’ll see it soon enough if your conjecture is correct. Maybe if you’d stuck around Whiterun when the dragon attacked there you’d already know this. Now, you look old enough to have fought in the Great War. Is that why the Thalmor are after you?”

She hesitated just enough for me to notice it. “Yes. We’re very old enemies. And if my suspicions are correct, they might have something to do with the dragons returning. But that isn’t important right now. What _is_ important is that you might be Dragonborn.”

‘Must be fun riding a paranoia boat in a circular river.’ “Fine, so we’re headed to Kynesgrove.”

“Right. There’s an ancient dragon burial mound there. If we can get there before it happens, maybe we’ll learn how to stop it.”

“Let’s go kill a dragon, then.”

Delphine stood up straight and nodded. “I need to get into my traveling gear. Give me a minute and I’ll be ready.” She went over to a chest and opened it, then kicked off her shoes. I turned away to examine what she had stored in the room and only looked back when she said, “That’s better. Let’s get going.”


	20. 6.4 Dovahkiin

22042015-23042015

## 6.4

###### A Blade in the Dark  
Morning Star, 2nd, 4E 202

Delphine was both chatty and ridiculous along the way. “I hope you’re Dragonborn, I really do. But we’ll find out soon enough. We may both end up dead, but at least it gets me out of Riverwood. I don’t really think I’m cut out for the quiet life. I doubt the Thalmor are aware of you yet. So we should be safe from them, at least.”

‘So that trip to Ustengrav and all that chatting up of Farengar in Whiterun were done by your twin?’

She also liked to say we couldn’t afford any delays and that we had to keep moving. And then, as we approached that bandit stronghold, the one with the two towers, she said, “This is a notorious bandit hideout. But it’s also the shortest way to Kynesgrove, so . . . we may have to kill a few bandits.”

Instead of just killing the lookout and keeping on, she charged on inside and killed all the other bandits, as well. I don’t think she’s quite right in the head. She actually ran all the way to Windhelm and then swung back around south to get to Kynesgrove rather than cut across the hot springs.

Just as we reached the road heading up to the town Delphine suddenly stopped and said, “Wait. Something’s wrong.”

A woman came flying down the path, yelling, “No, you don’t want to go up there! A dragon—it’s attacking!”

Good to know we were in time for the festivities.

“Come on. Hurry,” Delphine said as the woman ran off toward Windhelm. “We might be too late.”

We sprinted up into the town and then around to get to the area behind it and up where the dragon mound was. Not even halfway up I could see that black dragon again from Helgen. “Sahloknir, ziil gro dovah ulse!”

“Lorkhan’s eyes! Look at that big bastard! Keep your head down, let’s see what it does.” Then she readied her blades and sneaked the rest of the way.

The two of us crouched behind a large outcropping of rock. Big Black was hovering over the mound, and began to speak again. “Sahloknir, ziil gro dovah ulse! _Slen tiid vo_!”

The mound burst open and a skeletal dragon was revealed. As it began moving it, too, spoke, even though it had no flesh. “Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?” Slowly, like the reverse of the decay of the two dragons I had already killed, the thing’s flesh and muscle and scales were returning to it.

“Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir.” Big Black—Alduin—turned his attention to me, crouching there behind the rocks, and said, “Ful, losei Dovahkiin? Zu’u koraav nid nol dov do hi.”

I stood up at that point because there was no sense in doing otherwise.

“You do not even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah.”

‘Actually, it was given to me, not taken. And I understand enough.’

“Sahloknir, krii daar joorre.” Alduin pumped his wings and flew away.

“I am Sahloknir,” the newly-resurrected dragon roared. “Hear my Voice and despair!”

“This one’s mine!” Delphine shouted.

‘Then why am I here? Oh, right, proof.’

I summoned a fire atronach even though I wasn’t sure it could help (but it would help my skill in Conjuration), then started in with lightning.

“Dovahkiin, your Voice is no match for mine!”

“And why would it be?” I muttered between casts. “I haven’t killed enough of you guys yet for it to count. Just because I understand the words doesn’t mean I _understand_ the words.”

“We have to get this thing grounded!” Delphine shouted.

“Really? I had no idea,” I muttered. Eventually we did enough damage to force Sahloknir to land, and then the real fun could begin. Delphine switched to blades and I brought in another atronach. We wore it down further and eventually it keeled over dead. I had gotten a little jaded already when it came to dragons, I’m afraid.

“I’ll be damned, you did it! That was well done. Come on. I’ve been wanting a closer look at one of these buggers,” Delphine said and hastened toward the corpse.

When I approached, however—

“Wait. Something’s happening. Gods above!”

—the usual happened. But this was my third, so the disturbance to my system from absorption wasn’t nearly so staggering. When I eyed Delphine I could see the shock on her face, and the blossoming hope.

“So you really are—I—it’s true, isn’t it? You really are Dragonborn.”

I busied myself for a short time with picking off whatever bones and scales I could get before turning to her. “Well?”

“I owe you some answers, don’t I? Go ahead. Whatever you want to know. Nothing held back.”

‘We’ll see about that.’ “Then who are you and what do you want with me?”

She looked around the area first to check for any people. “I’m one of the last members of the Blades. A very long time ago, the Blades were dragon slayers, and we served the Dragonborn, the greatest dragon slayer. For the last two hundred years, since the last Dragonborn emperor, the Blades have been searching for a purpose. Now that dragons are coming back, our purpose is clear again. We need to stop them.”

That sounded a bit too simplistic to me, but—“I see. What do you know about the dragons coming back?”

“Not a damn thing,” she admitted. “I was just as surprised as you were to find that big black dragon here.”

‘I wouldn’t say surprised, exactly, but—’ “That black dragon was the one who attacked Helgen, when Ulfric escaped his execution.”

“Interesting. Same dragon. Damn it, we’re blundering around in the dark here!” she said with a healthy amount of frustration, hands going up in a futile gesture. “We need to figure out who’s behind it all!”

I eyed her again. “Any suspicions as to who might be?” I asked, betting she was going to bring up the Thalmor again.

“The Thalmor are our best lead. If they aren’t involved, they’ll know who is,” she said confidently.

“Why them? What’s your reasoning?”

“It’s nothing solid. Yet,” she admitted. “But my gut tells me it can’t be anybody else. The Empire had captured Ulfric. The war was basically over. Then a dragon attacks, Ulfric escapes, and the war is back on. And now the dragons are attacking everywhere, indiscriminately. Skyrim is weakened, the Empire is weakened. Who else gains from that but the Thalmor?”

‘Has this woman not read _The Book of the Dragonborn_?’ I wondered. I found a copy easily enough after I’d heard the term in that silly song. There was a damn prophecy involved. I blinked, remembering the Dragon scroll Serana and I had found. I couldn’t remember anything from it, but—“Are the Thalmor after you specifically, or. . . ?”

She sighed. “Before the Great War, the Blades helped the Empire against the Thalmor. Our Grand Master saw them as the greatest threat to Tamriel. At the time, that was true. Maybe it still is. So we fought them in the shadows, all across Tamriel. We thought we were more than a match for them. We were wrong.”

That sparked a memory of something I’d read at the Arcanaeum, but I couldn’t quite put a finger on it. “So you want to find out what the Thalmor know about the dragons,” I said musingly.

“If we could get into the Thalmor Embassy—it’s the center of their operations in Skyrim. Problem is, that place is locked up tighter than a miser’s purse. They could teach me a few things about paranoia. I have a few ideas, but I’ll need some time to think it through, pull some things together. Meet me back in Riverwood, and keep an eye on the sky. This is only going to get worse.” She took off at a steady jog before I could ask any more questions, which saw me irritated.

I hoofed it toward Riften, intending to spend the night in my house down there. Maybe, just maybe, I could convince Brynjolf to do me a favor. 

###### Diplomatic Immunity  
Morning Star, 3rd, 4E 202

As luck would have it a dragon found me not far from the house. It was just me and my summon, and I would be damned if the stupid beast burned down my peculiar little dwelling. It was after I killed it and had absorbed its power that I realized I had absorbed four souls so far, but only one of them had actually provided me with deeper meaning on a Word of Power.

Because of that I wasn’t paying proper attention as I continued on to the house, to the point that I about had the stuffing scared out of me when I heard Brynjolf say from the darkness, “Hello there, lass.”

A Word burst into understanding in my head and I breathed out, “ _Laas!_ ”

“Interesting little fight there,” he said. I watched him approach, a golden glow showing me his life essence. “You’re not very talkative.”

I cocked my head to the side, then continued on to the house, Brynjolf following. Inside I removed my mask as I said, “How’d you know it was me?”

He blinked slowly. “You look different.”

I rolled my eyes and removed the helm. “Brynjolf. Answer the question.”

“Aye, lass. I told you once before it’s about sizing up your mark. You may wear different garb and not be showing your face, but you’ve the same build, height, and you move the same way. You could masquerade as a Dunmer and I’d still know it was you.”

I sighed. “Well, that simplifies things, then.” I headed into the mushroom and up the ramp so I could take a seat. The helm and mask went onto the floor beside my chair, along with the gauntlets. I summoned Luggage to me and fished out some refreshments, handing some mead to Brynjolf while I uncorked some blood.

“So you’re the Dragonborn they’ve all been rabbiting on about.”

“Yes, unfortunately. And I have something of a problem right now.” I took a long pull from my bottle and sat back.

“That makes two of us—having a problem, that is.”

“Oh? Shall we trade woes?”

He was silent for a time, sipping at his mead. “With the understanding that we keep each other’s secrets, aye.”

I exhaled in relief. I really did think I could trust him, despite not actually knowing him all that well. “All right. I need to steal something from the Thalmor.”

“Really now, lass. That is a problem. You’re no thief.”

I laughed. “Right. I can’t recall ever stealing anything and I’m not all that good at sneaking around. I was planning to go scout out their installation in Solitude and the embassy itself, see what I could find before trying to break in. I can be invisible, I can pick locks, but I have to scout the situation first. A part of me was hoping you might be able to come along and help, but I realize that’d take you away from Riften for a fair stretch of time. I’m willing to pay for it like a proper job, not just impose on a friend.”

Brynjolf had another pull on his mead. “If I can swing it, maybe we can exchange favors. Tell me more about the situation?”

I gave him the bare rundown of what had happened starting with Helgen, but without actually mentioning Delphine’s name. “I have this horrible feeling she’s going to try to get me into the embassy in a far too obvious way, and even with a disguise I don’t want my face to be known. No one even knows my name. It’s just Dragonborn. I’m wearing a disguise and a mask for a reason.”

“Oh, you need not explain that one to me,” he said. “I can see it easily enough. You already have a life. No sense mucking it up by mixing roles.”

“Exactly! She has her gut feeling and I have mine. I think whatever plan she comes up with will involve me going there in plain view, and I really don’t like that idea. Something goes wrong, the Thalmor make the connection between their infiltrator and the Dragonborn, and then I have Thalmor trying to kill me every other minute. I already have enough assassins after me as it is.”

He arched a brow at me inquiringly.

I shrugged. “Four or five Dark Brotherhood assassins already and one Boethiah cultist, and that’s as myself. I’ve no idea why, either. Nothing so far while parading around as Dragonborn, unless you count those two cultists from Solstheim who tried to off me in plain sight in the middle of Whiterun.”

He seemed a bit nonplussed at that information, but quickly enough rallied back. “Either the Dark Brotherhood has really gone downhill these days, or you’re very good at defending yourself.”

“Eh, a bit of both, I think. I got the feeling they were brand new members. But maybe after the first one failed they started using me as an initiation test. One of them waltzed up to me in broad daylight, blades out, with a warning war cry. I mean really. It was embarrassing.”

He grimaced. “Let me tell you my side, then. You asked me a bit back if I’d found someone to help with that job, and I did. He was a bit young, but got the job done. After that he found his way to the Ragged Flagon and starting doing jobs and getting things done, bringing in a fair bit of coin. Apparently that was taken badly by a certain someone. On top of all that there was someone out there deliberately making things sour for us, and turned out to be the woman we all thought killed our former Guild Master.”

“Thought?”

He nodded. “Turns out she was set up. The real culprit was the current Guild Master. After a number of jobs the boy was sent on turned up information relevant to her involvement, Mercer took him along to go after her, but when he came back he said she’d killed the boy as a distraction and gotten away. Not long after that Mercer’s behavior got even more strange than usual. He disappeared right after I got a message from her, saying she had proof that Mercer was the real killer.

“I decided to risk it and met with her. She’d broken into Understone Keep, into some researcher’s laboratory, to get a rubbing of the language used in the journal she’d retrieved from our former Guild Master, and got it translated by a contact up in Winterhold. When we checked back at the guild we found that Mercer had bunked off for good.

“Now, I can’t go into all the details, because it’s not my secret to tell, but we’re short manpower to take Mercer down. If I convince her that you could be that extra power, we could trade services. Otherwise, we’ll do it as a job, breaking in and getting whatever information we can find from the Thalmor. It’d be costly, though.”

I shook my head. “Gold isn’t an issue if it comes to that. I make a fair bit selling enchanted stuff. I could also make trade in enchanted gear for your colleagues, if that would be more attractive. If your friend agrees, though, who am I? Myself, or the Dragonborn?”

“That’s a fair question,” he said, draining the last of his mead. “Yourself, I think. Someone up at the College is a friend of hers and could vouch for you.”

“Enthir?” I guessed. He did deal in shady goods, after all.

“Aye. It’ll take you a few days to do your scouting, so that gives me some time to convince her. Just come to town as usual, or send a message with where to meet when you get back.”

“I really appreciate this, Brynjolf. You were the only person I could think of to ask that I thought I could count on.”

“Now that’s a strange thing to be saying to a thief, lass,” he said with a smirk.

I gave him a sarcastic smile. “Just go talk to her. I’m heading to Solitude for a bit.”

###### Morning Star, 5th, 4E 202

I spent the better part of the day at Castle Dour, keeping an eye on the Thalmor Headquarters and giving my skill at Illusion a workout. No one ever went in, and no one ever went out. Either the place wasn’t being used or they had some other exit available to them. ‘But come to think of it, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen any Thalmor in the city. Altmer, yes, but not Thalmor. Even the prisoner escorts I’ve seen in the area never go here.’

###### Morning Star, 6th, 4E 202

The embassy was patrolled by at least four Thalmor, walking in endless squared circles around the inside of the perimeter wall. There were guards out front and probably plenty more in the buildings on the property. Jumping over the wall might not be much of an issue for myself, but Brynjolf was a different story, and finding the time between guards to throw a length of heavy leather over the spiked top so that he could make use of a rope to haul himself up and over was problematical, to say the least.

‘If they bring prisoners here,’ I thought, ‘they—well, there are some pretty horrible stories told about their methods. Even the Legion at Helgen used torture. They’d have to remove any bodies, so. . . . Several places I’ve been already had places to dump corpses, but I imagine they’d not want the smell to get too bad. I wonder. . . .’

I left and headed downhill, out of sight of the embassy. It was built up at the top of the road, which meant there might be some kind of entrance lower down, through a cellar. They were in the northernmost part of Skyrim and high enough up that snow was everywhere, even in the warmer months. Dumping corpses out would be like placing them into a box of ice. And if the cold didn’t freeze the bodies, scavengers would feed on them.

There was a path of sorts going down, very faint at first, nothing more than a game trail, but it became something more. The way met up with a more substantial road, though it was still just packed dirt and not a proper road lined with cobblestones. Around the bend to the north was another game trail, that time leading to an almost fully-concealed cave entrance.

No blood at the entrance, but that meant little. Inside might well be a different story. I went in cautiously, senses on alert. ‘Ah, a troll,’ I thought, hearing the characteristic lumbering sound. It was the kind of sound only heard when the skies weren’t having a stormy rage, as the muffling qualities of heavy snowfall and the shriek of the wind usually covered it.

I lured the thing closer to the entrance and set it on fire. Repeatedly. There were plenty of bones and blood in the cave to mark its occupancy. Deepest in was a relatively fresh body—a mage, going by the clothing. The troll must have been saving it. It was up over my head that was of more interest. A trap door. There were more bones scattered around the area, leading me to believe that the door might well lead into the bowels of the embassy. No doubt locked, but if it wasn’t receptive to being picked, there were other ways around that.

I wasn’t aware of any other places the Thalmor had, so it was time to return to Riften.

###### Morning Star, 11th, 4E 202

I had sent Shadr with a piece of parchment to Brynjolf, with just a little drawing of a mushroom on it. Considering that I’d helped Shadr from being extorted after a deal he’d made had been caused to go sour he was happy to help me out. And I’d tipped him, so that hadn’t hurt.

I spent the time at the house, keeping an eye out for dragons and any other nefarious sorts lurking in the woods. Brynjolf would show up when he could get away, or when he had news either way. I also spent time on alchemy.

Brynjolf appeared early in the morning and his expression was a pleased one. “She’s agreed,” he said after letting himself in and helping himself to a bottle of mead. “That means we’re headed to Irkngthand. Easiest way to get there without getting lost is to head up to Windhelm and go west along the river, then south.”

“Sounds like an area with a lot of Dwemer ruins,” I commented. I knew damn well Blackreach ran under that entire area, and farther north to Alftand. For all I knew Irkngthand was one of the ruins I had passed under in my meanderings in the vast cavern below.

“Aye, that it is. We can go as soon as you’re ready. She’ll meet us on the road north.”

I nodded and summoned Luggage to make sure it was carrying a decent amount of supplies. More for them, but I did check my stock of blood potions and related supplies just to be safe. If we were going to a Dwemer ruin the odds were against finding anything palatable within, though there might be bandits camped outside. I was already wearing my own face and gear; the Dragonborn armor was packed away in Luggage where it would be safe.

We angled northwest to reach the spot where a dirt road split off from the main one. The cobbled road led to Fort Greenwall and Shor’s Stone beyond that, but taking the dirt version avoided the bandit-infested fort entirely. She ghosted on up to us shortly after that, a Dunmer if her voice meant anything. It was soft, and soothing to listen to, but unmistakably Dunmer accented.

“Greetings,” I said as I continued to walk. “I’m Yvara.”

“Yes,” she replied, “Enthir had much to say about you.”

“Is he still pissed that I called him on his ‘all deals are final’ policy being only a minor detail when it comes to his own bad deals?” I asked archly.

She chuckled softly. “He doesn’t like to be reminded of his mistakes. I am Karliah.”

“Lovely to meet you. Any friend of Brynjolf’s is possibly a friend of mine. I mean, I don’t know, he’s got some odd friends and all. Dodgy sorts who like to mix mead and wine together, or claim that apple and cabbage stew is delicious.”

“Now see here, lass,” Brynjolf protested.

Karliah chuckled again and said, “Come on, then. We’ve a long way to go.”

I nodded and started jogging, careful not to go too fast for either of them. “I assume that Brynjolf has told you I’m not exactly the best at being stealthy, but I can hold my own.”

Brynjolf snorted quietly in amusement as Karliah said, “Yes. And that you can be invisible when you choose. How are you with a bow?”

“Eh, fair enough, though it could use a lot more work. Depending on what we run across inside the place I can conjure one up to use. Or we can all just skitter by like ghosts. The target isn’t in the incidentals, really.”

“Well said.”

By the time we arrived it lacked only a handful of hours to midnight. Unfortunately, there were indeed bandits camped outside, and if we wanted to get any rest at all before continuing after Mercer we would need to ensure they would not sneak up on us in the night. So, they all died, and I had a lovely large meal. Inside, through a door up at the very top of the exterior ruins, we found a lot of dead bandits.

“Mercer did this,” Karliah said softly. “I recognize his style. It’s probably a warning to any who would dare come after him.”

“We can’t be far behind,” I said, having crouched down to test one of the bodies. “This one’s still warm and the blood hasn’t coagulated.” I called Luggage to me and fetched out a number of pre-prepared bottles, then methodically went about draining any viable corpses of their remaining blood for blood potions.

“We need at least a few hours of sleep,” Brynjolf said. “I don’t know about you two, but I desperately need at least a little before we go on.”

“Well, I just fed well so I’m energized. I’ll keep watch. You two get some sleep. Say, two hours?”

They nodded and dragged bodies away from the sleeping pallets that littered the floor, then bedded down.

###### Morning Star, 12th, 4E 202

It took most of the day to get through Irkngthand. There were innumerable Falmer to deal with and sneaking by wasn’t always possible. Didn’t help that Mercer had collapsed a tower inside and forced us to take a much longer route through the city. I don’t know if he already knew the layout of the place or was simply hoping that by doing so he would prevent us from following entirely.

We did eventually catch up to him in time to see him prying the second of two “eyes” from a prodigious statue of what looked to be a Snow Elf.

“He’s here and he hasn’t seen us yet. Brynjolf, watch the door,” Karliah said just above a whisper.

‘Really?’ I thought. ‘Those Dwemer doors aren’t exactly noiseless.’

“Aye, lass. Nothing’s getting by me.”

To me she said, “Climb down that ledge and see if you can—”

“Karliah,” Mercer said in a gravelly voice as he dropped down from the statue’s face and turned toward us. “When will you learn you can’t get the drop on me?”

The ledge I was standing on abruptly cracked and sent me down toward the bottom of the room, leaving Karliah and Brynjolf back up by the door. Mercer was staring at me with a hint of confusion on his face, and I could see he was a Breton like myself.

“Have you brought another fool to die in your stead, Karliah?” Mercer taunted. “Has she been filling your head with tales of thieves with honor?” he asked me.

“If anyone falls here this day, it’ll be you,” I promised.

“Then the die is cast, and once again my blade will taste blood. Karliah, I’ll deal with you after I rid myself of your irksome companions. In the meantime, perhaps you and Brynjolf should get better acquainted.”

I won’t pretend to understand what he did, but somehow he got Brynjolf to turn against Karliah. It was unwilling, I knew, because I could hear him apologizing over and over again up there. Mercer went invisible, but that would not be a problem. I immediately summoned my lich and prepared a spell, and watched as the lich unerringly ran the man through with several ice spikes, allowing me to see where he was without invoking any powers of my own, and send my own spells against him. I used lightning instead of fire. Didn’t want to melt the ice.

Mercer soon realized that being invisible was no benefit and revealed himself fully, at which point I did my damnedest to fry the bastard’s head. Those ice spikes would still hurt either way. Mercer’s control over Brynjolf slipped enough to free my friend, but by then I had him down and breathing his last breath. A spike of ice through his forehead sealed it.

While Brynjolf and Karliah were sorting themselves out I started to search the body. I knew there was something Mercer had stolen, though I didn’t know the details. But then the whole place shook like a dragon landing and parts of the ceiling started caving in.

“Damn it,” I hissed, and summoned Luggage to me. I stripped Mercer’s body down—even his smalls—and threw every last thing into Luggage and got it to close back up. Water was pouring in from broken pipes and drowning was a distinct possibility for my two allies. “Are you watertight?” I asked Luggage.

It moved indecisively so I dismissed it for the time being and called up to the others, “I’ve stripped the body and have it all stored.”

“The damage has blocked off the doors here,” Brynjolf called down.

The water level was rising at an alarming rate so I raced up the broken pathway Mercer had been using and leaped over to perch on the shoulder of the statue. “I hope you two can swim,” I called to them. It wasn’t long before they were treading water near me, and we were all looking upward trying to see if escaping through one of the wide, broken pipes up there was a possibility.

Instead, another part of the ceiling collapsed, sending huge chunks of stone down into the water, swamping us with a backlash of waves. But it revealed what looked to be a way out above the room we were in, and when the water level kept on rising we were able to crawl out onto solid footing and stagger away, into a fissure that had Dwemer pipes and machinery along the sides, making it that much more narrow.

I waited several minutes, looking back the way we’d come, until I was certain the water hadn’t risen so far as to drive us on, then summoned Luggage back. I hauled out everything I’d stripped off Mercer and set it on the ground. I saw Brynjolf eye the smalls sitting on top I said, “When I said everything, I meant it.”

He chuckled and shook his head, moving to lean against the wall and rest while Karliah started rifling through the goods. “Got it,” she said triumphantly, and pocketed something. Then she produced the two eyes Mercer had pried from the statue.

I sighed softly and thought of Gelebor. What was such a detailed statue of a Snow Elf doing in a Dwemer ruin?

Karliah offered one of them to me, and I blinked in surprise. “I’m already getting paid back for this job.”

Brynjolf shook his head. “Now then, lass, it’s loot. One for the guild, one for you. Believe me, when I do the job you need I’ll tiptoe off with whatever looks good.”

“Eh, given that reasoning, sure,” I said and accepted it. We stayed in that cave for at least an hour, just drying out. Nobody brought up the fact that I had single-handedly brought down the target. Whatever it was they’d been after had been retrieved and it was up to Karliah to deal with it further. Brynjolf and I had a date.

As soon as we were dry we exited the cave. Karliah had been correct in her earlier assumption that we were under a lake for we were facing one. A look at my map oriented me and showed me the Nightgate Inn was nearby, so Brynjolf and I went there to get rooms for the night.


	21. 6.5 Dovahkiin

23042015

## 6.5

###### Diplomatic Immunity  
Morning Star, 14th, 4E 202

“So that’s it, then,” he said, gazing upward.

I hummed softly. “If a pick won’t work, acid might, or repeated applications of ice and fire to ruin the metal.”

He gave me an interested look. “I hadn’t thought of that one.”

“Oh, you Nords,” I teased. It was an hour past midnight and I hoped everyone was sleeping so that our entrance was unremarked. “Okay, you’re up first.”

Brynjolf did his damnedest to pick the damn thing open, to no avail. Then he took the acid I offered him (it had been fun tracking down more than one Afflicted and luring them into a position where they’d need to use their bizarre attack against hostile wildlife so I could collect the goo) and we both stood to the sides so he could splash it without either of us being caught in whatever dripped down. It sizzled, but no go.

“Bugger,” I muttered. “Okay, let me try this.” I alternately froze and fired the door and succeeded in warping the metal, but the lock didn’t crack and it did not open. I spent a minute kicking snow over the acid on the ground in frustration before something occurred to me. Borri, opening that gate at High Hrothgar. “Okay, I have one more idea before we have to try slipping over the damn wall up there. Stand back a little.”

Brynjolf did so and I concentrated on the word “open”, trying to unlock some deeper meaning, searching for something inside me from the dragon souls I’d absorbed. “ _Bex_!” I said sharply, looking at the trap door; it popped open with a quiet groan of tortured metal. “About damn time,” I muttered.

“Right, lass, nice and easy.” Brynjolf crouched down and offered his laced hands to give me a leg up.

With his help and my own jumping prowess, I easily launched myself up through the trap door and landed lightly. “ _Laas_!” I whispered and slowly spun in a circle looking for auras. There was just one, in a cell nearby. I laid flat and extended an arm down to give Brynjolf a hand. He was able to use that to get himself up high enough to grab the edges of the opening and pull himself up the rest of the way.

I closed the door as quietly as I could and then tapped him on the shoulder and pointed at the cell. “One life form. I don’t see any others down here,” I whispered.

He nodded and we sneaked over to the cell to have a look-see. Brynjolf gasped quietly and pulled me off a short distance. “That’s a fellow guild member, lass.”

I frowned. “We’ll take him along, then. Ah, you get his cell open and I’ll do some healing. I’m sure they’ll need it.”

“Aye. But you go look around first for what you need. I don’t want him to see a stranger straight off and I do have some potions handy.”

I nodded. “All right.” I cast Muffle on my feet and skulked off around the corner; there was a desk there and a chest against the wall. Rifling through the desk revealed nothing of interest so I picked open the chest. Inside was a key and a book or journal entitled _Thalmor Dossier: Esbern_ that I tucked away. A quick look around showed nothing else of interest except for two sets of stairs, so I checked in with Brynjolf, keeping out of line of sight of the prisoner.

“He’s not waking up,” he whispered. “They worked him over pretty hard.”

I sent out a stream of healing magic and when the man began to stir I sidestepped out of view. “Back in a couple. I’ve not found it yet.”

Brynjolf nodded so I scurried off up a set of stairs. They led to a door, but did not provide access to the other set of stairs so they obviously led to different parts of the embassy grounds. The door was locked, of course, so I set about picking it open, and prepared an invisibility spell. I eased it open just enough to slip through, then nudged it closed and whispered, “ _Laas_!”

There was one person up a level higher and two on the floor I was on, so I’d have to be careful. I studied their movements until my invisibility was about to wear off, then refreshed it and started moving. In a chest by a desk (which was lacking in anything of interest) were another three documents, one of which was entitled: _Dragon Investigation: Current Status_.

> #### First Emissary Elenwen,
> 
> We anticipate a breakthrough in our efforts to uncover the party or power behind the dragon resurrection phenomenon. An informant has identified a possible lead, whom we have brought back to the Embassy for a full interrogation. The subject is obstinate, but by all indications is holding back the information we seek. I have authorized Intermediate Manual Uncoiling—I do not expect more will be necessary, unless you feel time presses.
> 
> I know you prefer to be present for the final questioning; I will inform you immediately when the subject is fully receptive. Two days should tell the tale.
> 
> In the meantime, if you wish to audit our technique, your expertise is welcome, as always. I have placed the prisoner in the cell closest to your office stairs, for your convenience.
> 
> #### —Rulindil, 3rd Em.

I tucked all of them away and retreated back to the door I’d used and went back to Brynjolf.

“I think I have it,” I whispered. “There are three people upstairs, two of which are on patrol. I think we better get out of here.”

“A little more healing first, if you will. My friend here could use it.”

I made sure my hood was obstructing any real view of my face and looked back at the prisoner, then started healing him again while Brynjolf kept an eye on both sets of stairs. When the man could stand Brynjolf carefully led him off to the trap door and opened it. “I’ll go down first,” he said. “Etienne, you come down next and I’ll make sure you get down safely.”

Etienne nodded shakily and shortly thereafter it was my turn, but I had Brynjolf give me a leg up again so I could reach through and pull the door back down behind us. They would still figure out how it was done, but no sense leaving it open to be noticeable straight away. We hustled our find away as quickly as possible and once we were in the clear we got him mounted on Horse and took off through the night.

Brynjolf stole two horses from Dragon Bridge like the thief he was and with all three of us mounted—I reclaimed my faithful horse—we headed toward Morthal, then cut down through Labyrinthian. We split up at Fort Greymoor, with them continuing on east. I headed south along the road toward Markarth, but only long enough to be sure they wouldn’t see me turn east and cut across the wilds so I could stop in at Elysium.

One of the things I did while there was place the Dragon Elder Scroll into Luggage, just in case. But it also gave me time to rest a bit and read over all of the documents I’d purloined. I looked at the first unread one, _Thalmor Dossier: Ulfric Stormcloak_.

> _Status_ : Asset (uncooperative), Dormant, Emissary Level Approval
> 
> _Description_ : Jarl of Windhelm, leader of Stormcloak rebellion, Imperial Legion veteran
> 
> _Background_ : Ulfric first came to our attention during the First War Against the Empire, when he was taken as a prisoner of war during the campaign for the White-Gold Tower. Under interrogation, we learned of his potential value (son of the Jarl of Windhelm) and he was assigned as an asset to the interrogator, who is now First Emissary Elenwen. He was made to believe information obtained during his interrogation was crucial in the capture of the Imperial City (the city had in fact fallen before he had broken), and then allowed to escape. After the war, contact was established and he has proven his worth as an asset. The so-called Markarth Incident was particularly valuable from the point of view of our strategic goals in Skyrim, although it resulted in Ulfric becoming generally uncooperative to direct contact.
> 
> _Operational Notes_ : Direct contact remains a possibility (under extreme circumstances), but in general the asset should be considered dormant. As long as the civil war proceeds in its current indecisive fashion, we should remain hands-off. The incident at Helgen is an example where an exception had to be made—obviously Ulfric’s death would have dramatically increased the chance of an Imperial victory and thus harmed our overall position in Skyrim. (Note: The coincidental intervention of the dragon at Helgen is still under scrutiny. The obvious conclusion is that whoever is behind the dragons also has an interest in the continuation of the war, but we should not assume therefore that their goals align with our own.) A Stormcloak victory is also to be avoided, however, so even indirect aid to the Stormcloaks must be carefully managed.

That said quite a lot about the war. Something to consider down the line. I then read the next one, entitled _Thalmor Dossier: Delphine_.

> _Status_ : Active (Capture or Kill), High Priority, Emissary Level Approval
> 
> _Description_ : Female, Breton, mid 50s
> 
> _Background_ : Delphine was a high-priority target during the First War, for both operational and political reasons. She was directly involved in several of the most damaging operations carried out by the Blades within the Dominion. She had been identified and was slated for the initial purge, but by bad luck was recalled to Cyrodiil just before the outbreak of hostilities. During the war, she evaded three attempts on her life, in one case killing an entire assassination team. Since then, we have only indirect evidence of her movements, as she has proven extremely alert to our surveillance. She should be considered very dangerous and no move against her should be made without overwhelming force and the most careful preparation.
> 
> _Operational Notes_ : She is believed to still be working actively against us within Skyrim, although we have no location on her. Assumed to be working alone, as no other Blades are known to be active in Skyrim, and she has in the past avoided contact with other fugitive Blades for her own security (one of the reasons she has so far evaded elimination). Her continued existence is an affront to all of us. Any information on her whereabouts or activities should be immediately forwarded to the Third Emissary.

Something to keep in mind when dealing with the woman, and it explained her rampant paranoia.

The final one was entitled _Thalmor Dossier: Esbern_.

> _Status_ : Fugitive (Capture Only), Highest Priority, Emissary Level Approval
> 
> _Description_ : Male, Nord, late 70s
> 
> _Background_ : Esbern was one of the Blades loremasters prior to the First War Against the Empire. He was not a field agent, but is now believed to have been behind some of the most damaging operations carried out by the Blades during the pre-war years, including the Falinesti Incident and the breach of the Blue River Prison. His file had remained dormant for many years, an inexcusable error on the part of my predecessor (who has been recalled to Alinor for punishment and reeducation), in the erroneous belief that he was unlikely to pose a threat due to his advanced age and lack of field experience. A salutary reminder to all operational levels that no Blades agent should be considered low priority for any reason. All are to be found and justice exacted upon them.
> 
> _Operational Notes_ : As we are still in the dark as to the cause and meaning of the return of the dragons, I have made capturing Esbern our top priority, as he is known to be one of the experts in the dragonlore of the Blades. Regrettably, we have yet to match their expertise on the subject of dragons, which was derived from their Akaviri origins and is still far superior to our own (which remains largely theoretical). The archives of Cloud Ruler Temple, which is believed to have been the primary repository of the oldest Blades lore, were largely destroyed during the siege, and although great effort has been made to reconstruct what was lost, it now appears that most of the records related to dragons were either removed or destroyed prior to our attack. Thus Esbern remains our best opportunity to learn how and why the dragons have returned. It cannot be ruled out that the Blades themselves are somehow connected to the dragons’ return.
> 
> We have recently obtained solid information that Esbern is still alive and hiding somewhere in Riften. Interrogation of a possible eyewitness is on-going. We must proceed carefully to avoid Esbern becoming alerted to his danger. If he is indeed in Riften, he must not be given an opportunity to flee.

I sat back with a sigh, wondering if that weird old man in the Ratway Warrens behind the tricked-out door was Esbern. I pulled supplies from my desk and made copies of everything to store at Elysium, then tossed the dossiers on Delphine and Ulfric into Luggage. I would keep the other two on me for the time being.

I also wished I had read the one on Esbern beforehand and could have warned Brynjolf about the Thalmor, but if Etienne was the one they were interrogating regarding his location, Brynjolf should already be aware of it and would warn his people accordingly. Either way, Brynjolf had walked away with some loot, just not the loot he was expecting.

Even with the impetus to get a move on I stayed to rest for a while.

###### Morning Star, 15th, 4E 202

Delphine looked both pleased and pissed off to see me. “I don’t think you were followed,” she said quietly. “Come on. I have a plan.”

‘I’ll just bet you do,’ I thought as I followed her down to her little hideout.

“I figured out how we’re going to get you into the Thalmor Embassy,” she said earnestly.

I could have just told her I’d already done so, but I wanted to see where her plan was going, so I played along. “You wouldn’t be coming, too?” I asked innocently.

“That would be a bad idea. I’d be too likely to attract the wrong kind of attention. But they don’t know you at all, yet.”

It was the “yet” part that stuck in my craw. It was as though she expected me to end up on the wanted lists just as she was. And then I could become a dragon-slaying, Thalmor-killing paranoiac like her. “What’s your plan, then?” I asked as evenly as I could.

“The Thalmor ambassador, Elenwen, regularly throws parties where the rich and connected cozy up to the Thalmor. I can get you into one of these parties. Once you’re inside the embassy, you can get away and find Elenwen’s secret files. I have a contact inside the embassy. He’s not up for this kind of high-risk mission, but he can help you. His name’s Malborn, a Bosmer, with plenty of reason to hate the Thalmor. You can trust him. I’ll get word to him to meet you in Solitude, at the Winking Skeever—you know it? While you’re doing that, I’ll work on getting you an invitation to Elenwen’s next little party.”

“And, once I’m inside the embassy, then what?”

“That’s when the fun starts. You’ll have to slip away from the party without raising the alarm. Then you’ll need to find Elenwen’s office and search her files. Malborn should be able to point you in the right direction. After you’ve spoken with Malborn at the Winking Skeever you can meet up with me at the stables outside the city and I’ll get you ready to go.”

I nodded slowly, internally seething, then shook my head. “No, I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she shot back. “I’ve been doing this kind of thing for a long time, remember?”

“Yes, I’m sure you have. But I have a serious problem with the fact that it’s extremely likely that it’ll be noticed that this mysterious guest has vanished, and so has a lot of important documentation. I’d end up as just another name on the Thalmor list of persons to be executed, which would greatly hinder my passage around Skyrim. In fact, I feel like you’re being a bit cavalier with my life, actually.”

Delphine sputtered in anger, but stopped when I threw the report about dragons on her table. “Now, see, I had a look around personally since I saw you last, to get a feel for the place. I found a perfectly viable way inside, and found some interesting information. The best part is no one there should have a clue who broke in and helped themselves. The Thalmor have no idea what’s caused the dragons to return. Take a look.”

“Really?” she said skeptically, and not without some anger. “That seems hard to believe. You’re sure about that?”

“As I said, take a look. And why would you want to send me there anyway if you weren’t going to believe me after I came back?”

She deflated as she read the document, the red flush of anger fading. “You’re right, you’re right. I just—I was sure it must have been them. If not the Thalmor, who? Or . . . what?”

“I have no idea, but the Thalmor have a lead on someone who might know, and I intend to go track him down. His name should ring some bells for you. It’s Esbern.”

Delphine stepped back a pace in shock. “Esbern? He’s alive? I thought the Thalmor must have got to him years ago. That crazy old man,” she said, almost fondly. “Figures the Thalmor would be on his trail, though, if they were trying to figure out what’s going on with the dragons. Esbern was one of the Blades archivists, back before the Thalmor smashed us in the Great War.

“He knew everything about the ancient dragonlore of the Blades. Obsessed with it, really. Nobody paid much attention back then. I guess he wasn’t as crazy as we all thought. Ironic, right? The old enemies assume that every calamity must be a plot by the other side. Even so, we’ve got to find Esbern before they do. He’ll know how to stop the dragons if anybody does. Do they know where he is?”

“Mm, they think Riften.”

She nodded thoughtfully, then said, “Talk to Brynjolf. He’s . . . well connected. A good starting point.”

‘Why not just say go to the Ragged Flagon? Is this some payback for pissing her off, with her hoping I get offended over having to deal with thieves?’ I nodded and said, “Right. I’m off.”

“Wait!” she said. “He’s not going to believe you. If you find him, ask him where he was on the thirtieth of Frostfall. He’ll understand.”

On my way to Riften I seethed some more. Miss High and Mighty back there was too valuable to the cause to risk on a skeever-brained infiltration plan, but the Dragonborn wasn’t? Pfft. And then to question my word on the information I’d brought back?

###### A Cornered Rat  
Morning Star, 16th, 4E 202

I arrived at Riften some time after midnight. It was a risk going down to the Ragged Flagon dressed as the Dragonborn, but I had little choice in the matter. I couldn’t go as myself, and hopefully my armor was intimidating enough that the thieves down there would hold off on getting itchy. Better yet, it’d be nice if Brynjolf was down there. I entered the city through the gate by Mistveil Keep and skulked along the wall until I could slip down to the canal level and into the Ratway.

There were a few vagrants down there with more bravery than sense which I had to kill, but I arrived at my destination very quickly and entered the Ragged Flagon. To my great relief Brynjolf was there sitting with a fellow I vaguely recalled was named Delvin. Delvin jerked his head in my direction and Brynjolf turned to look, then jumped up and came to meet me.

“You after the old man?” he murmured.

“Yes. Anyone been asking about him? Thalmor infesting the place?”

“Aye, lass, to both. Oddly enough, one of my fellow thieves was making some inquiries, which is highly suspicious. He’s here tonight, in fact. If he tries to leave you can bet I’ll be holding him for my own inquiries.”

I nodded. “I’d rather word not got out I was down here, if you catch my meaning, but some of your lot may wonder how it is you know the damn Dragonborn. If I’d had more time I’d have scrounged up a completely different set of armor, but oh well. Anyway, all right. I’m going down there and I’ll wipe out any Thalmor I run across. You keep an eye out here. _Try_ to keep tongues from wagging? Please?”

He chuckled softly. “As best I can, lass. If you come back through and the place is deserted, don’t be getting any fool ideas about what happened to us.”

“Ignore any screams of mortal terror, then,” I joked and walked on. I wasn’t even long past the door when I spotted several Thalmor soldiers. I took a deep breath and summoned a Wrathman from the Soul Cairn and began arcing lightning everywhere.

I had to take out several more on my way to that weird door, but when I arrived everything was quiet for the time being. I knocked, repeatedly, until I could hear movement on the other side and the cover over the slit at eye height (for a Nord, anyway) slid to one side.

“Go away!”

“Esbern? Open the door. There are Thalmor infesting the Warrens and they’re after your hide.”

“What!? No, that’s not me. I’m not Esbern,” he said with a complete lack of conviction. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The cover slid shut with a bang and I could hear muttering.

‘Great, this one’s as paranoid as Delphine.’ And speaking of her—I knocked again until he opened the cover and said patiently, “Delphine said to ask where you were on the thirtieth of Frostfall.”

There was silence from the other side, though I could see him peering out at me. “Ah. Indeed, indeed. I do remember. Delphine really is alive, then? You’d better come in then and tell me how you found me and what you want.”

It took him a long couple of minutes to undo the multitude of locks and open the door. “There we are! Come in, come in! Make yourself at home!” He closed the door behind me and secured the largest of the locks, then said, “That’s better. Now we can talk. So, Delphine keeps up the fight, after all these years. I thought she’d have realized it’s hopeless by now. I tried to tell her, years ago. . . .”

“Look. The Thalmor have found you. We have to get out of here.”

“Yes, yes, so you said. But so what? The end is upon us. I may as well die here as anywhere else. I’m tired of running.”

Irritation rose up like a cresting wave. “I don’t care, Esbern. I came here to get you to Delphine. You can take it up with her, and then you can go get yourself caught by the Thalmor and interrogated until your brains come out your ears.”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet? What more needs to happen before you all wake up and see what’s going on? Alduin has returned, just like the prophecy said! Nothing can stop him! I tried to tell them. They wouldn’t listen. Fools. It’s all come true—all I could do was watch our doom approach.”

“Alduin,” I said, “the dragon who’s raising the others.”

“Yes! Yes! You see, you know, but you refuse to understand!”

“Again. I don’t care. Right now isn’t the time for long explanations. Delphine wants you, so pack up whatever you need and let’s go. Maybe there’s some Blades sanctuary here in Skyrim you two can hide out in instead of mouldering down here like a mad hermit who was never in his life a Nord.”

Esbern stopped his pacing and looked at me sharply, partly offended and partly with an air of epiphany. “Ah!” He turned quickly and started gathering up books and other things. “Give me—just a moment. I must gather a few things. I’ll need this—no, no, useless trash—where’d I put my annotated Anuad?”

I turned away to keep an eye on the door as he kept racing around packing.

“One moment, I know, time is of the essence, but mustn’t leave secrets behind for the Thalmor. There’s one more thing I must bring. Well, I guess that’s good enough. Let’s be off.”

I nodded and unlocked the single lock he had reset and opened the door. On the way back we ran into more Thalmor, but Esbern proved to be more than just a tired, disheartened old man. He was quite handy with magic, especially shock spells and summons. The Ragged Flagon was deserted—Brynjolf had obviously packed everyone away somewhere safer in case Thalmor overran the place—so we continued on into the Ratway proper, only to find more Thalmor and one Khajiit. She was a spy or informant for the Thalmor judging by the note I found on her, but it was one fewer witness left behind.

###### Alduin’s Wall  
Morning Star, 16th, 4E 202

“I really hope you’re rested,” I said once we’d slipped out the gate by the keep and gone far enough from the guards. “It looks to be mid-morning and we have a long way to travel. With the Thalmor and informants there dead we might be okay if we just push through to Riverwood.” Inside I was angry that it had all taken far too long as I’d hoped to get back out of the city under the cover of night. Now there were guards and people in the marketplace who’d seen me, which meant they could be targets for interrogation by the Thalmor. We headed west on the main road. I intended to take the pass to Helgen then get to Riverwood from there.

An assassin showed up not long after we passed the road north to Ivarstead. A rough search of the body revealed nothing, not even the usual parchment with orders, leaving me in the dark. I had to assume that Elenwen was involved somehow. She had realized someone had broken in, knew about Esbern, sent forces to Riften along with an assassin. Perhaps that Khajiit informant had tipped more than just the Thalmor off? Why the assassin would have waited so long to strike, on the other hand, was a bigger mystery.

We hit the pass as the sun was starting to sink; if any Thalmor found us there shouldn’t be any witnesses left after we slaughtered them. But it remained that it was later than I wanted. Esbern was pretty spry for his age, but the long run was wearing him down. Once we got through the pass I would take a shortcut that’d shave quite a bit off our time, even if the going might be a bit rougher than Esbern would appreciate.

Even with the shortcut we rolled into the inn some time before midnight. I admitted, if only to myself, that I was pretty tired after jogging for so long while escorting an old man and with the possibility of Thalmor popping up at any moment.

“Delphine!” Esbern said happily. “I—it’s good to see you. It’s been . . . a long time.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Esbern. It’s been too long, old friend. Too long.” I could swear Delphine actually seemed choked up with emotion that wasn’t anger there for a moment. “Well, then. You made it, safe and sound. Good. Come on. I have a place where we can talk. Orgnar, hold down the bar for a minute, will you?”

“Yeah, sure,” said the guy behind the bar.

In the hideout Delphine said, “Now then. I assume you know about—”

“There’s no time to lose,” Esbern interrupted, having caught his second wind and acting with far too much energy. “We must locate—let me show you. I know have it here somewhere. . . .”

“Esbern,” Delphine said with exasperation, “what—”

“Give me—just a moment,” he interrupted again, rummaging around in his pack. “Ah! Here it is. Come, let me show you.” Esbern placed a book on the table and tapped it. “You see, right here. Sky Haven Temple, constructed around one of the main Akaviri military camps in the Reach, during their conquest of Skyrim.”

Delphine leaned my way and muttered, “Do you know what he’s talking about?”

“Shh!” Esbern said sternly. “This is where they built Alduin’s Wall, to set down in stone all their accumulated dragonlore. A hedge against the forgetfulness of centuries. A wise and foresighted policy, in the event. Despite the far-reaching fame of Alduin’s Wall at the time—one of the wonders of the ancient world—its location was lost.”

“Esbern,” Delphine said, exasperated again, “what are you getting at?”

Esbern looked up in confusion, perhaps shock. “You mean . . . you don’t mean to say you haven’t heard of Alduin’s Wall? Either of you?”

“Let’s pretend we haven’t. What’s Alduin’s Wall and what does it have to do with stopping the dragons?”

“Alduin’s Wall was where the ancient Blades recorded all they knew of Alduin and his return. Part history, part prophecy. Its location has been lost for centuries, but I’ve found it again. Not lost, you see, just forgotten. The Blades archives held so many secrets. I was only able to save a few scraps.”

“So you think that Alduin’s Wall will tell us how to defeat Alduin?”

“Well, yes, but, there’s no guarantee, of course,” he admitted.

“Sky Haven Temple it is, then. I knew you’d have something for us, Esbern. I know the area of the Reach that Esbern’s talking about,” she said to me. “Near what’s now known as Karthspire, the Karth River canyon. We can meet you there, or all travel together, your call.”

I would have pressed for more information, but I was tired and feeling pretty damn cranky. I agreed to rendezvous with them near Karthspire. They could run off now if they wanted to. I had a ways to go to get to Whiterun. I would get some damn sleep, check over any messages that might be waiting for me, and then . . . I’m sure they’d have scouted the place by the time I arrived.


	22. 6.6 Dovahkiin

23042015-24042015

## 6.6

###### Alduin’s Wall  
Morning Star, 17th, 4E 202

When I hit Whiterun (I rode Horse and took some shortcuts, of course) I checked in with Lydia. She had some messages for me. Notably, another one from Jarl Ulfric inviting me again to join his liberation of Skyrim. I had to wonder if the man even knew I wasn’t a Nord for a start. I rolled my eyes out of Lydia’s sight and dictated another polite refusal for her to have sent out by courier.

I desperately needed sleep, but didn’t feel comfortable about doing so with Lydia around, so I took off again, found a convenient spot, changed identities, and invisibly made my way to Elysium and entered through the trap door to the cellar. I was tempted to put a bed down there for when I wanted to more or less avoid everyone. As it was I went upstairs, greeted Valdimar, then retreated to my bedroom to crash on the bed.

I went back into Whiterun when I awoke just to make the rounds, sit with Farkas for a bit, the usual. I was dismayed and angered to see Lydia out and about being less than pleasant to Amren and Carlotta. Was it a coincidence that neither of them were Nords? Belethor I could understand—he was a skeevy little bastard—but Amren and Carlotta were both friendly people.

###### Morning Star, 18th, 4E 202

The day previous had been a relaxing change of pace, and I had stopped into a cave along the way to Karthspire, mainly because it was there, and had come out of it with a new word: Yol—Fire. It had the usual sorts fun-loving people inside. Vampires, warlocks, necromancers.

I doubled back to the main road and headed west, in no particular rush to be back in Delphine’s company, and was very nearly there when a dragon roared by and panicked Ri’saad and his fellow Khajiit into running across the bridge headed to Karthspire, which was a place they really didn’t want to go. I rushed after them and drew the attention of the dragon, allowing them to flee back across the bridge and toward Markarth instead.

Thankfully the thing used frost, which meant a fire atronach would be semi-useful. Either way, I battled and defeated the thing, and almost gladly absorbed its soul and power. Karthspire was in view and it took me only a minute to get there after I looted what I could from the dragon. I saw Delphine and Esbern crouched behind some rocks, eyeing the camp.

When she noticed me Delphine hissed, “Where have you been?”

I about growled at her. The nerve of this woman! “Well, between you and Esbern having raptures over this lost but found Sky Haven Temple and then rushing off in the dead of night after I agreed to meet you here, I wasn’t given much of a chance to inquire about anything. I took a little time to take care of some pressing issues—you _do_ remember I have commitments that have nothing to do with you, yes?—and figured you two would have the whole place scouted when I arrived. And besides, I was fighting a damn dragon just a minute ago within hearing distance of this very spot. Where the hell were _you_? Aren’t you sworn to slay dragons? I fought that thing single-handedly and saved a bunch of people from being eaten who had the bad luck to be in the area. Were you so intently spying on the Forsworn that you couldn’t hear the battle?”

“I—”

“We can argue later,” I said, cutting her off. “I assume we’re about to bust into a camp bristling with Forsworn now?”

Some time later, and after a lot of death, we wandered into a cave area and found part of what Esbern was looking for on a landing up a set of steps. “This looks promising,” Delphine said.

“Yes. Definitely early Akaviri stonework here.”

“We’ve got to get this bridge down,” Delphine said, referring to the raised stone that would span the gap to an opening across the way. “These pillars must have something to do with it.”

“Yes. These are Akaviri symbols.”

I glanced over to see three pillars, each with a symbol displayed. They reminded me of the pillars I would often see in Nord ruins, so I wondered if they rotated as well.

“Let’s see. You have the symbol for ‘King’, and ‘Warrior’, and of course the symbol for ‘Dragonborn’. That’s the one that appears to have a sort of arrow shape pointing downward at the bottom. Hm.”

Esbern just continued to examine the pillars and Delphine kept looking at the bridge, so I stepped forward and turned the King and Warrior pillars to show the Dragonborn symbol. It was the first thing I could think of—and it worked. Imagine that, using the symbol of the Dragonborn as a key.

“Whatever you did, it worked,” Delphine said. “Let’s see what those old Blades left in our way.”

‘Why, thank you, Delphine,’ I thought snidely. ‘I’d not have been able to see the bridge lowering all by myself.’

Farther along we came to a room with many square tiles arrayed on the floor, a pillar across the way with a chain dangling from it, and the way onward (presumably) off to our right.

“Wait,” Esbern said.

“Why are you stopping?” Delphine asked.

“We should be careful here. See these symbols on the floor?”

Delphine hummed. “Esbern’s right. Looks like pressure plates.”

“We’ll cross once it’s safe.”

It took a moment for that to sink in and my eye started to twitch. ‘Oh, I get to be the one in danger, _again_. This just gets better and better. I am finding a deep well of loathing within my being for these two.’ I pushed between the two of them in the narrow passageway and let my gaze wander over the tiles. After a moment I saw an unbroken pathway of Dragonborn stones winding around toward the pillar so I followed it and pulled the chain.

“Looks safe now. Let’s move,” Delphine said briskly.

“Yes, yes! I think we must be close to the entrance.”

A bit deeper in was a large square room with a large carved stone head on the far wall, a dais, and on the dais was a seal of some kind. There was also a large chest for some reason. I would have to check it once I was alone.

“Wonderful!” Esbern enthused. “Remarkably well-preserved, too. Ah—here’s the ‘blood seal’. Another of the lost Akaviri arts. No doubt triggered by, well, blood. Your blood, Dragonborn.”

I glanced at the seal again as Delphine said, “Esbern’s probably right. Try using your blood on the carved seal on the floor.”

I took a deep, calming breath and tried to relax. I truly wanted to fry the woman where she stood. Esbern was easier to deal with. He was an archivist, a scholar, a historian. So while his rambling could be mildly aggravating it wasn’t that big of a deal overall. But Delphine set my teeth on edge in a way I hadn’t realized was possible. About every other thing out of her mouth was offensive in some way.

“Look here!” Esbern said happily, shaking me from my thoughts. “You see how the ancient Blades revered Reman Cyrodiil. This whole place appears to be a shrine to Reman. He ended the Akaviri invasion under mysterious circumstances, you recall. After the so-called ‘battle’ of Pale Pass, the Akaviri went into his service. This was the foundation stone of the Second Empire.”

I nodded slightly and stepped onto the seal, then conjured a sword and carefully sliced the side of my hand. I released the weapon back to Oblivion and flicked some blood downward, then healed the wound when a glow arose and the carved head in front of me moved to reveal a passage.

“That’s done it!” Delphine cried. “Look, it’s coming to life! You did it! There’s the entrance. After you, Dragonborn. You should have the honor of being the first to set foot in Sky Haven Temple.”

“There’s no telling what we might find inside,” Esbern added.

Whereas I took Esbern’s tone to simply convey excitement for discovery I couldn’t help but think Delphine wanted me to go first so I’d be the one stepping face first into danger if there was any. I led the way forward and opened a door that presented itself, then started up the stairs beyond it.

“Fascinating!” Esbern enthused. “Original Akaviri bas-reliefs—almost entirely intact! Amazing. You can see how the Akaviri craftsmen were beginning to embrace the more flowing Nordic style—”

“We’re here for Alduin’s Wall, right, Esbern?”

I ground my teeth. She couldn’t even let him speak about what we were seeing on the way up the staircase without harping. She could make the transition to hagraven with little to no loss of personality.

“Yes, of course,” Esbern said with a somewhat resigned air. “We’ll have more time to look around later, I suppose. Let’s see what’s up ahead.” We reached the top of the stairs and Esbern went a bit weird on us. “Shor’s bones,” he exclaimed, and rushed off to the side and up some stairs. “Here it is! Alduin’s wall—so well preserved. I’ve never seen a finer example of early second era Akaviri sculptural relief.”

“Esbern,” Delphine said repressively, always the wet blanket, as she lit braziers with her torch. “We need information, not a lecture on art history.”

But Esbern was too excited to get upset. “Yes, yes,” he said distractedly as he moved to the far left side of the wall sculpture and began examining it closely. “Let’s see what we have. . . . Look, here is Alduin! This panel goes back to the beginning of time, when Alduin and the Dragon Cult ruled over Skyrim. Here”—he moved to the right and pointed—“the humans rebel against their dragon overlords—the legendary Dragon War. Alduin’s defeat is the centerpiece of the Wall. You see, here he is falling from the sky. The Nord Tongues—masters of the Voice—are arrayed against him.”

“So, does it show _how_ they defeated him? Isn’t that why we’re here?”

‘I must not kill her,’ I chanted in my head. ‘I must not drain her of her blood and spit it all over the floor and walls because it’s sure to taste like bog water.’

“Patience, my dear. The Akaviri were not a straightforward people. Everything is couched in allegory and mythic symbolism. Yes, yes. This here, coming from the mouths of the Nord heroes—this is the Akaviri symbol for ‘Shout’. But . . . there’s no way to know what Shout is meant.”

“You mean they used a Shout to defeat Alduin? You’re sure?”

‘I must not kill her,’ I chanted again. ‘Did he not just say they used a damn Shout, woman?’

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Presumably something rather specific to dragons, or even Alduin himself. Remember, this is where they recorded all they knew of Alduin and his return.”

“So we’re looking for a Shout, then. Damn it. Have you ever heard of such a thing?” she asked me. “A Shout that can knock a dragon out of the sky?”

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak just yet.

“I was afraid of that. I guess there’s nothing for it, then. We’ll have to ask the Greybeards for help. I hoped to avoid involving them in all this, but we have no other choice.”

“What do you have against the Greybeards?” I asked stiffly.

Delphine scoffed. “If they had their way, you’d do nothing but sit up on their mountain with them and talk to the sky, or whatever it is they do. The Greybeards are so afraid of power they won’t use it. Think about it. Have they tried to stop the civil war, or done anything about Alduin? No. And they’re afraid of you, of your power. Trust me, there’s no need to be afraid. Think of Tiber Septim. Do you think he’d have founded the Empire if he’d listened to the Greybeards?”

‘And Reman Cyrodiil and Tiber Septim _could_ be seen as power-hungry tyrants only appeased after they conquered a continent, depending on who you asked. Arngeir might be a bit afraid of my potential, and even envious of the ease with which I learn what takes them decades to do, but I seriously doubt any of them are afraid of their power,’ I thought. “I’ll ask if they know what Shout the Tongues used.”

“Right,” she said. “Good thing they’ve already let you into their little cult. Not likely they’d help Esbern or me if we came calling. We’ll look around Sky Haven Temple and see what else the old Blades might have left for us. It’s a better hideout that we could have hoped for. Talos guard you.”

I nodded stiffly and turned away, intent to poke around myself before leaving.

“Look, here. In the third panel,” I heard Esbern say as I moved toward a doorway. “The prophecy that brought the Akaviri to Tamriel in the first place, in search of a Dragonborn. Here are the Akaviri—the Blades—” 

I was too busy rooting around in chests in a barracks of sorts to bother listening to the rest. I found a complete set of what I assumed was Blades armor and several of those distinctive swords and packed them away in the pouch I’d inherited from Savos. I would never wear any of it, or probably even wield one of the weapons, but I could put them on display. On my way out I looted the chest at the seal.

My only intent at that point was to get as far away from Delphine as possible. The moment I could I swapped identities and made for the College, staying invisible for a good part of the way—or at least until Horse caught up with me again.

###### The Throat of the World  
Morning Star, 19th, 4E 202

I was relaxing in the Arcanaeum when I saw a copy of _The Book of the Dragonborn_ and pulled it to me to read through again. Once I was done I went over to Urag to ask him about it. “Well, the general theory is that this ‘Last Dragonborn’ is supposed to defeat Alduin, the ‘World Eater’ and prevent him both from feasting on the souls in Sovngarde and from destroying the world in its entirety,” he said succinctly.

I blinked and realized I had started sweating a bit. “World Eater is literal?”

Urag nodded.

“So he’s not back just to enslave everyone again and start up a new Dragon Cult.”

“Correct.” He then went on to explain the prevailing theory about the specific points of each line of the prophecy, which seemed to narrow it down to the present time, and me.

I nodded and wandered off to a chair to sit down because my legs were feeling a bit wobbly. I knew I should have pressed harder for answers, but Delphine just—gods! She had made that snide comment about the Greybeards being a “little cult” and I just couldn’t stand to be around her a second longer. As if the Blades weren’t also a cult by that definition! Gods above. I was going to have to go to High Hrothgar with a bit more urgency than I’d planned, but I was still going to stop in at Riften to see Brynjolf.

Alduin was just a dragon, and I’d keep on telling myself that.

###### Morning Star, 20th, 4E 202

Brynjolf was not in the marketplace so I headed on down through the Ratway to the Ragged Flagon. He wasn’t in evidence there, either, so I went up to Vekel to inquire. “Is Brynjolf around?”

“Ah. . . .” Vekel paused in wiping down the bar and called out, “Delvin? Can you see if Brynjolf is about?”

“All right, all right.” Delvin disappeared off somewhere and was back a few minutes later with Brynjolf in tow.

Brynjolf strolled over in a casual sort of way and the two of us took off for a walk that ended up taking us out into the wilds where I could be reasonably certain we wouldn’t be overheard.

“What’s going on, lass? You’re wound up tighter than a thief’s pouch strings.”

I laughed uneasily. It figured he would notice. “Ah, I just found out something alarming,” I said quietly. “About, you know, my other business.”

“This can’t be good, then,” he commented.

“I don’t know. I really don’t know. _Laas_!” I did a quick look around to check auras and continued, “I finally found out just what it is I’m supposed to do, and I’m kind of scared. I don’t even have all the details yet. Alduin—the dragon that attacked Helgen—has the power to end the world, and I’m supposed to kill him. I keep telling myself he’s just another dragon, but. . . .”

Brynjolf settled an arm around my shoulders as we continued to walk more or less aimlessly. It was comforting. To change the subject to something less likely to make me queasy I asked, “How have things been going since Mercer?”

“Ah, well, much better. Mercer betrayed all of us, and while there are a lot of hurt feelings and anger, it’ll calm down. Already people are a lot more relaxed.”

I smiled and decided to tease him. “If things are looking up, maybe you can afford to hire a cleaning lady, then. And maybe add some ornamental fish to the water in there.”

He snickered. “Oh, sure, and next we’ll be holding basket weaving classes. I’ll tell you, we once had a thief in the guild who thought that if he just dropped baskets over people’s heads they would never notice him stealing their things.”

I laughed outright.

“He used to weave the things himself, but did it so poorly they had such gaps in them. Anyone could see out with one on their head.”

“I’m going to guess he didn’t last long?”

“Aye,” he said, his tone somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

“So I’m guessing that there really is honor amongst thieves, at least with each other.”

“Oh, aye. We have certain rules, foremost being that we don’t steal from each other.”

“Ah,” I said in realization. “Mercer was stealing the guild blind, then?”

He nodded.

I shook my head. “That’s sad, and kind of pathetic.”

“You know, I’m still not sure that anyone else can see your house, but I went to the trouble of etching in a shadowmark so that any proper thief who stumbled over the place would leave it alone.”

“Shadowmark?”

“A glyph or symbol. They mean different things. Just a way for guild members to know which places are all right to hit, which ones are dangerous, which ones to avoid. That sort of thing.”

“Oh. All right. Thank you.” I remembered, then, seeing something carved into the wood outside a shop door. “I think I know what you’re talking about. I know I’ve seen at least one before, in Whiterun. Belethor’s.”

Brynjolf nodded. “Aye. But enough about that. Let me tell you about the time. . . .”

###### Morning Star, 21st, 4E 202

On my way to Ivarstead I was attacked by a spriggan, four bears, and a wolf. I made it to High Hrothgar by mid-afternoon and tracked down Arngeir. “Do you know of the Shout used to defeat Alduin? I need to learn it if I’m to go against him.”

Arngeir actually went pale. “Where did you learn of that?” he demanded. “Who have you been talking to?”

I frowned slightly at his reaction. “It was recorded on Alduin’s Wall,” I said slowly.

“The Blades! Of course. They specialize in meddling in matters they barely understand. Their reckless arrogance knows no bounds. They have always sought to turn the Dragonborn from the path of wisdom. Have you learned nothing from us? Would you simply be a tool in the hands of the Blades, to be used for their own purposes?”

And then I got pissed. “Hold on there. I don’t appreciate you implying that. I am well aware of the fact that the Blades are barely to be trusted. Delphine has made that more than clear; she’s rude, disrespectful, dismissive, stubborn, sees things in black and white, and she’s cavalier with the lives of others. She seems to think that just because she’s one of the Blades I should fall all over myself to do whatever she wants, and I’m not having any of it. I barely even ever use Shouts because I don’t see the need. I have spells to defend myself. I use Aura Whisper every so often because it’s useful.” I paused, tapping a finger against the front of my mask. “Well, all right, I _did_ use Whirlwind Sprint a few times that one day when I was feeling whimsical.”

There was a long pause before Arngeir said, “Forgive me, Dragonborn. I have been intemperate with you. The Blades may say they serve the Dragonborn, but they do not. They never have.”

I nodded. “So those stories about the Akaviri Dragonguard with Reman Cyrodiil and the Blades guarding the Septim line? Were they guardians or more like gaolers?”

“Our records show it was a bit of both. As to the Shout—it is not something we can teach you. It is called ‘Dragonrend’, but its Words of Power are unknown to us. We do not regret this loss. Dragonrend holds no place within the Way of the Voice.”

“Help me to understand, please. What is so bad about Dragonrend?”

Arngeir nodded. “It was created by those who had lived under the unimaginable cruelty of Alduin’s Dragon Cult. Their whole lives were consumed with hatred for dragons, and they poured all their anger and hatred into this Shout. When you learn a Shout, you take it into your very being. In a sense, you become the Shout. In order to learn and use this Shout, you will be taking evil into yourself.”

I hummed softly, trying to reconcile that with the way I learned, as opposed to the way the Tongues learned. Unfortunately, I suspected I would never know unless I learned the Shout. “If the Shout is lost, how can I defeat Alduin?”

“Only Paarthurnax, the leader of our order, can answer that question, if he so chooses.”

Right. The mysterious—wait. Paarthurnax. Paar Thur Nax—Ambition Overlord Cruelty. “Oh gods,” I whispered. “Oh, I see it now. I get it.”

Arngeir shifted uneasily.

I hummed again. “Paarthurnax, your leader, is a dragon. That’s part of why there’s such an adversarial relationship between the Greybeards and the Blades. They would want to kill him, seeing only black and white, forgetting the lore. Those tablets on the way up the mountain tell the story. Which means he turned away from Alduin and helped us. The Blades would never understand. They wouldn’t care.”

“You . . . are correct,” Arngeir said. He reeked of uneasiness, a bit of fear, some dismay. . . .

“Would it help to set your mind at ease if I shared my philosophy on dragons?” Arngeir indicated interest so I said, “I look at it this way. We all have to eat, so if I see a dragon snatching an elk or a bear or even just flying around, I keep walking because it’s none of my business. If one attacks me, or other people, or a settlement, I kill it. The same goes for people, really. If someone is fool enough to attack me, I kill them. Well, unless it’s a brawl, and then I just win some coin usually. The bandits, necromancers, vampires, and scavengers out there who pick fights with me don’t live to regret it. Those thieves who keep trying to threaten money out of me? I intimidate them, they scurry off, and I continue on my way. Dragons, people, it’s all the same to me. Dragons couldn’t talk if they weren’t intelligent, which means they have pretty much the same options as we do when it comes to choices.”

“. . .I admit,” he said, “that does ease my mind. I think . . . you are ready to see him. He lives in seclusion on the very peak of the mountain. He speaks to us only rarely, and never to outsiders. Being allowed to see him is a great privilege.”

“Up the path through that archway in the courtyard out back?”

“Yes, but only those whose Voice is strong can find the path. We will teach you a Shout to open the way to Paarthurnax.”

Arngeir moved away so I followed, out to the courtyard, and up the steps to the landing before the squared-off freestanding archway. Arngeir gazed at the snow-dusted stone and imprinted three Words. “ _Lok_  . . . _Vah_  . . . _Koor_. . . .” And after I took in the words he said, “I will grant you my understanding of Clear Skies. This is your final gift from us, Dragonborn. Use it well. Clear Skies will blow away the mist, but only for a time. The path to Paarthurnax is perilous, not to be embarked upon lightly. Keep moving, stay focused on your goal, and you will reach the summit.”

“Thank you, Master Arngeir.”

Clear Skies had a surprisingly gentle effect on my throat, such that I could use it again after very little time had passed, unlike Unrelenting Force. But for some reason, on the way up the mountain, it would stagger me on occasion. I had no idea why some but not all of the time. The path winding upward was covered in an unnatural storm of snow and mist. Unnatural because I watched a mountain goat die from getting too close to a section I had yet to clear. Damn things were everywhere, but that was not a way I’d have chosen to go, more or less disintegrating.

I shuddered and kept going.

As I crested the last rise I could see a word wall, but no part of it was glowing. ‘Interesting,’ I thought, and then scanned the sky. And there it was, a shadow that made no sense in the stormy sky. A dragon rounded the peak and came to a rest, shaking the ground when it landed.

“Drem Yol Lok. Greetings, wunduniik. I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my strunmah, my mountain?”

I removed my mask and smiled. “I think you heard me coming up the mountain and already know who I am.”

“Yes. Vahzah. You speak true, Dovahkiin. Forgive me. It has been long since I last had tinvaak with a stranger. I gave in to the temptation to prolong our speech.”

“There is nothing to forgive. But why do you live in seclusion if you love conversation? Aside from panicky mortals taking shots at you.”

“Evenaar bahlok. There are many hungers it is better to deny than to feed. Dreh ni nahkip. Discipline against the lesser aids in qahnaar, denial of the greater. Tell me. Why do you come here, volaan? Why do you intrude on my meditation?”

“Apparently I’ve been prophesied to defeat Alduin and I’m given to understand that would involve Dragonrend. The Greybeards have warned me about that Shout, but. . . . Is that something you can teach me?”

“Drem. Patience. There are formalities which must be observed, at the first meeting of two of the dov. By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my Thu’um! Feel it in your bones! Match it, if you are Dovahkiin! _Yol Toor Shul_!” Paarthurnax aimed his shout at the quiescent word wall, burning a Word of Power onto it. “The Word calls you. Go to it.”

I strode over to the wall and let the Word come to me, Toor—Inferno, then turned back to Paarthurnax.

“A gift, Dovahkiin. Understand Fire as the dov do.”

As he was granting me his understanding of the first word of the Shout, Yol, I was reminded for some reason of Durnehviir calling me a dovah what seemed so long ago. I would have to call him to Nirn soon and grant him that favor. It had, regrettably, escaped me. But I did not have enough untapped souls within me to call his full name.

“Now, show me what you can do. Greet me not as mortal, but as dovah! Do not be afraid. Faasnu. Let me feel the power of your Thu’um.”

I reached inside myself for one of those untapped souls and plumbed its depths to give me the right understanding of the second Word of the Shout, then faced Paarthurnax squarely and Shouted, “ _Yol Toor_!”

“Aaah, yes! Sossedov los mul. The dragon blood runs strong in you. It is long since I had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind. So. You have made your way here, to me. No easy task for a joor, mortal. Even for one of the Dovah Sos, dragon blood. What would you ask of me?”

“I would like to know about the Dragonrend Shout,” I said, putting my mask back on. Even for me it was cold on the peak.

“I do not know the Thu’um you seek. Krosis. It cannot be known to me. Your kind—joore—mortals—created it as a weapon against the dov. Our hadrimme, our minds, cannot even . . . comprehend its concepts.”

“That makes a certain kind of sense,” I replied thoughtfully. “And quite frankly, I don’t even know what it’s supposed to do, just that the ancient Tongues used it against Alduin. Is it even possible for me to learn it?”

“Drem. All in good time. First, a question for you. Why do want to learn this Thu’um?”

I laughed a bit breathlessly. “Want? No. Not really. I didn’t ask for any of this and would have been fine without it. But as I understand it, if Alduin isn’t stopped he will destroy the world. There are a lot of good people. A lot of bad people, too. But despite the bad, I like this world and don’t want it to end.”

“Pruzah. A good a reason as any. There are many who feel as you do, although not all. Some would say that all things must end, so that the next can come to pass. Perhaps this world is simply the Egg for the next kalpa? Lein vokiin? Would you stop the next world from being born?”

“If the world is truly meant to end it will happen regardless. That being so, the next world will have to take care of itself.”

“Paaz. A fair answer. Ro fus . . . maybe you only balance the forces at work to quicken the end of the world. Even we who ride the currents of Time cannot see past Time’s end. Wuldsetiid los tahrodiis. Those who try to hasten the end, may delay it. Those who work to delay the end, may bring it closer. But you have indulged my weakness for speech long enough. Krosis. Now I will answer your question. Do you know why I live here, at the peak of Monahven—what you name Throat of the World?”

“Not a clue, I’m afraid, except that dragons seem to like mountains.”

“True. But few now remember that this was the very spot where Alduin was defeated by the ancient Tongues. Vahrukt unslaad . . . perhaps none but me now remember how he was defeated.”

I frowned in thought and held up one hand. “Indulge me for a moment?”

“Geh.” He looked curious, if I was reading his expression right. It’s difficult to tell with a dragon and I could not interpret by scent.

I summoned Luggage to me and retrieved the Dragon Elder Scroll from inside. “Was this involved somehow?”

“Geh.” He seemed . . . surprised? “The Kel—the Elder Scroll. Tiid kreh . . . qalos. Time shudders at its touch. There is no question. You are doom-driven. Kogaan Akatosh. The very bones of the earth are at your disposal. Dragonrend and the Kel were used. Viik nuz kron. Alduin was not truly defeated, either. If he was, you would not be here today, seeking to . . . defeat him. The Nords of those days used the Dragonrend Shout to cripple Alduin. But this was not enough. It was the Kel—they used it to . . . cast him adrift on the currents of Time.”

It took a few moments for that to sink in and make sense. “They sent him forward in time, to just recently?”

“Not intentionally. Some hoped he would be gone forever, forever lost. Meyye. I knew better. Tiid bo amativ. Time flows ever onward. One day he would surface. Which is why I have lived here. For thousands of mortal years I have waited. I knew where he would emerge but not when.”

I coughed. “I was afraid of losing my sight or my mind reading one of these things. They must have been very brave, or very foolish, or very desperate.”

“You have read one?” he asked.

“Geh. It was during a journey to, well, save the world, actually.” I laughed again. “But I had the help of the moths at the Ancestor Glade here in Skyrim to ease the burden. I was told that Elder Scrolls have a mind of their own, and tend not to make themselves available unless they want to be found. I guess they wanted to be read, as well, else I’d be a babbling fool right now.”

There was a pause, almost as if Paarthurnax was trying to decide how to go on, then he said, “Tiid krent. Time was . . . shattered here because of what the ancient Nords did to Alduin. If you used that Kel here, at the Tiid-Ahraan, the Time-Wound, you may be able to . . . cast yourself back. To the other end of the break. You could learn Dragonrend from those who created it.”


	23. 6.7 Dovahkiin

24042015-25042015

## 6.7

###### Alduin’s Bane  
Morning Star, 21st, 4E 202

I dismissed Luggage and hugged the Elder Scroll to me. “You said Dragonrend was used to cripple Alduin. But he seemed fine to me. What did you mean, then?”

“Krosis. Dragonrend causes a dov to feel the weight of tiid as a joor would. Dov do not die except in battle. That weight forces a dov to the ground for a time and to become temporarily weakened.”

Oh. So it aided them greatly, but they were forced to use an Elder Scroll because . . . they weren’t doom-driven heroes fated to defeat Alduin for real?

“Go then. Fulfill your destiny. Take the Kel to the Time-Wound. Do not delay. Alduin will be coming. He cannot miss the signs.” He swung his head around to indicate the spot.

I looked and after a moment could see a distortion, almost like a column of heat rising from the snow. I went to it and took a deep breath, then opened the scroll. As before everything about my vision went strange, but this time after seeing something superimposed on normal vision I was abruptly seeing red-tinted events of the distant past, of a battle. Gormlaith, Hakon, Felldir, fighting a dragon, killing it, to be just another corpse littering the battlefield.

But then Felldir said something. “You do not understand. Alduin cannot be slain like a lesser dragon. He is beyond our strength. Which is why I brought the Elder Scroll.”

What did that mean?

They continued to talk as they kept an eye on the sky, and then Alduin arrived and perched on the word wall. “Meyye! Tahrodiis aanne! Him hinde pah liiv! Zu’u hin daan!”

“Let those that watch from Sovngarde envy us this day!” Gormlaith yelled.

Then the three of them, as one, Shouted, “ _Joor Zah Frul_!”

The Words burned themselves into my mind along with the sheer hate and malice that permeated them, wrapped them, but it was directed at Alduin.

Alduin was caught in the Shout, a warped blue aura surrounding him. “Nivahriin joorre! What have you done? What twisted Words have you created!? Tahrodiis Paarthurnax! My teeth to his neck! But first . . . dir ko maar. You will die in terror, knowing your final fate. To feed my power when I come for you in Sovngarde!”

Alduin could travel to Sovngarde. Right. Not good.

“If I die today, it will not be in terror,” Gormlaith asserted. “You feel fear for the first time, worm. I see it in your eyes.”

“ _Fo Krah Diin_!” Felldir Shouted, unleashing a torrent of frost at the dragon.

“Skyrim will be free!” Gormlaith yelled.

They fought, with Gormlaith eventually being snatched up in Alduin’s mouth and thrown aside to die on impact.

Felldir had had enough or knew the fight was futile and grabbed the Elder Scroll from his back and opened it. “Hold, Alduin on the Wing! Sister Hawk, grant us your sacred breath to make this contract heard! Begone, World-Eater! By words with older bones than your own we break your perch on this age and send you out! You are banished! Alduin, we shout you out from all our endings unto the last!”

“Faal Kel. . . !? Niikriinne. . . .” Alduin got out before he vanished.

“You are banished!” Felldir cried.

“It worked—you did it. . . .”

“Yes, the World-Eater is gone. May the spirits have mercy on our souls.”

And then I was back, holding the Elder Scroll, Paarthurnax nearby, with Alduin approaching through the storm. I quickly slipped an arm through the strap and slung the scroll across my back, and prepared.

“Bahloki nahkip sillesejoor. My belly is full of souls of your fellow mortals, Dovahkiin. Die now and await your fate in Sovngarde!” Alduin said as he hovered overhead.

‘But I’m Breton!’ I wailed to myself. ‘We don’t go to Sovngarde!’

“Lost funt,” Paarthurnax retorted. “You are too late, Alduin!”

“Suleyki mulaag, Paarthurnax. My power has waxed, while yours has waned.” Alduin flapped his wings harder and rose in the air, preparing to attack.

“Dovahkiin! Use Dragonrend, if you know it!”

I looked up, straight at Alduin, breathed in deeply, and Shouted. “ _Joor Zah Frul_!”

A pissed off Alduin landed heavily, encased in the warped blue aura I had seen in my vision of the past. I summoned a lich without conscious thought and started arcing lightning at Alduin as quickly as I could manage it.

“Unslaad hakoron! Never again!” Paarthurnax yelled as he fought against Alduin, as well.

“You will pay for your defiance!”

Every time I could feel the strain on my throat ease I Shouted again, to keep Alduin grounded, even though it increased my risk of death. And every time my summon was destroyed or recalled I brought out another. I danced around what space there was, staying out of range of Alduin’s teeth and tail.

“You may have picked up the weapons of my ancient foe, but you are not their equal!”

I was really starting to regret that I had not done the enchantments on my armor differently when Alduin finally appeared to be, if not dead, beaten down.

“Meyz mul, Dovahkiin,” he said. “You have become strong. But I am Al-du-in, firstborn of Akatosh! Mulaagi zok lot! I cannot be slain here, by you or anyone else! You cannot prevail against me. I will outlast you . . . mortal!” With that he launched himself skyward and flew away.

###### The Fallen  
Morning Star, 22nd, 4E 202

“Damn it,” I muttered. My breathing was ragged, my heart was pounding like mad, and I was feeling more than a little dismayed. I staggered over to the word wall and summoned Luggage so I could store the Elder Scroll, then leaned against the stone to recover my breath and allow my heart to settle back down to familiar patterns.

Paarthurnax came to settle in his original spot and did not seem in any hurry to speak, so I just focused on calming myself. And then I started chuckling. Alduin had said “mortal” like it was some kind of insult.

“Lot krongrah,” Paarthurnax said. “You truly have the Voice of a dovah. Alduin’s allies will think twice after this victory.”

“Well, a partial victory.”

“Ni liivrah him moro. True, this is not the final krongrah. But not even the heroes of old were able to defeat Alduin in open battle. Alduin always was pahlok—arrogant in his power. Uznahgar paar. He took domination as his birthright. This should shake the loyalty of the dov who serve him.”

“I hope so. The fewer dragons I’m forced to kill the better. He can travel to Sovngarde. I saw him say it then and he said it now, too, assuming he spoke truth and not a falsehood to demoralize his foes. But how to get there? Assuming that’s even where he went.”

“Geh. One of his allies could tell us. Motmahus. . . . But it will not be easy to . . . convince one of them to betray him. Perhaps the hofkahsejun—the palace in Whiterun—Dragonsreach. It was originally built to house a captive dovah. A fine place to trap one of Alduin’s allies, hmm?”

‘Oh yes, that would go over well.’ I chortled a bit giddily. “The Jarl of Whiterun might not think so. Trapped, huh? Is this related to Numinex? I read a poem about that once.”

“Geh. This was ages ago, you understand. There were more of us then. Before the bruniikke—the Akaviri—came and killed all my zeymah. I used to visit him from time to time. Nearly crazed by loneliness and captivity. Tiiraz sivaas. He did not even remember his own name. I do not know how he came to be caught. But the bronjun, the Jarl, was very proud of his pet. Paak! The hofkahsejun has been known as Dragonsreach ever since.”

I exhaled slowly. “You’re the Master of the Greybeards. Do others come here to train?”

“I have taught the Way of the Voice for centuries and the Thu’um since long before that. But no, Dovahkiin. Others do not come here to train anymore. Saraan. You are the first in over a hundred years. I meditate on the Rotmulaag—the Words of Power. I counsel in their use. It is enough for me.”

That must mean that Ulfric had never met Paarthurnax. In truth, I had no idea how old he’d been when he trained with the Greybeards, nor how long he had stayed. “You meditate on the words?” It seemed a somewhat strange thing to do for a being that spoke the language as its very own.

“Knowing a Word of Power is to take its meaning into yourself. Contemplate the meaning of a Rotmulaag. You will become closer to that Word, as it fills your inner self. Shall I teach you, Dovahkiin? What Word calls you to deeper understanding. There are three you can choose from: Fus, Feim, and Yol.”

“Hm.” I already had spells for fire, so I wasn’t particularly interested in that one. What little I understood or had guessed about Feim—Fade was interesting in the possibilities, but also not something I was presently concerned about. That left Unrelenting Force, which could be used as a type of crowd control. True, there were spells that could be used. Fear, Turn Undead, Paralyze, but. . . . There was something poetic in the idea of using Unrelenting Force against those skeevy Deathlords. “Fus,” I said.

“It is called ‘Force’ in your tongue,” Paarthurnax replied. “But as you push the world, so does the world push back. Think of the way force may be applied effortlessly. Imagine but a whisper pushing aside all in its path. That is ‘Fus’. Let its meaning fill you. Su’um ahrk morah. You will push the world harder than it pushes back.”

Something of what he said, or _how_ he said it, made a certain kind of sense. I would have to contemplate his words with due diligence. It made me wonder if I could simply do the same for the other words I had learned, but had not yet . . . unlocked, so to speak, by finding the deeper understanding from within an absorbed dragon’s soul. Definitely something to spend time on, with what time I had.

The sun would be coming up shortly if my reading of the sky meant anything. I rather hoped that the Greybeards were asleep and undisturbed by the battle, but I knew that was unlikely to be the case. But there was a curious side effect of my training. Talent in certain magical arts actually helped to mask my use of Shouts. A person would have to be fairly nearby to actually hear the words, though they would certainly see the effects. Well, not Aura Whisper, but that was unique anyway. Either way, it was probably still best not to chance using them unless I was wearing my disguise.

“Thank you,” I said. “For the lesson and the help. I should go down to High Hrothgar now and let the Greybeards know what transpired. And then get some rest.” At least I was no longer worried that using Dragonrend would somehow turn me into a cesspool of hatred, for dragons or anyone else, or that it would hurt me, rend my own soul.

“Geh,” was all he said.

I skittered back down the mountain as quickly as I could, Shouting away the hazardous mist, until I gratefully slipped back inside High Hrothgar. Arngeir was awake, meditating, but he rose as soon as the door thudded shut.

“Alduin. . . . We heard the Dragonrend Shout from here. You defeated him?”

“Sort of,” I admitted, not particularly wanting to verbally confirm that Paarthurnax had been my ally in the fight to a pacifist Greybeard. “He fled, I think to Sovngarde.”

Arngeir nodded. “I feared as much. I thought it was him we saw flying east after your battle. The old tales say that he is able to travel into Sovngarde to devour the souls of the dead. But they don’t say how he does this.”

“I am going to ask Jarl Balgruuf if I can trap a dragon at Dragonsreach, to obtain the information that way. I doubt he’ll like it, but I don’t see what else I can do. I just—Sovngarde? I hope I don’t have to die to. . . .”

“If it is a portal of some kind, I doubt that measure of sacrifice would be required, merely that you have the courage.”

Well, that was sort of comforting. “I need to get some sleep before I go try to convince the Jarl.”

“You are welcome to rest here, as always,” he said.

“Thank you, Master Arngeir,” I said with an incline of my head. I slept for about six hours before I popped awake again, so I headed off down the mountain. I needed some time to think about what had happened and what could, so I wasn’t going straight to Whiterun.

It was sad, really. There were only four Greybeards and no one had come to study with them—to stay, that is—in a hundred years or more. Would anyone else ever make that journey? Or were the Greybeards a dying breed?

I recalled something Esbern had babbled about and once I got down to Ivarstead I set out to find a place called Broken Oar Grotto, the last known location of one of the Blades. But along the way I stumbled over an unfortunate Nord propped up against some rocks outside a cave. Valdr was his name, and he was badly in need of healing, which I provided. He and his fellow hunters had encounter a slight problem, it seemed, inside the cave. He knew his friends must be dead, but asked if I would be willing to go in and take care of the beasts.

Inside were three spriggans and a bear, plus his two dead friends. I left the corpses alone out of respect, but killed off the creatures. I went back out to let Valdr know it was safe in there for the time being and he gave me his “lucky” dagger as thanks before going in to see about transporting his friends for a decent burial. I don’t think he had any clue who I was, which was just as well.

###### Morning Star, 23rd, 4E 202

I found the place. It was quite nice, actually, though the bears and wolves and spriggans were somewhat annoying. After they were all dead I had the chance to look around and admire the place. It had a little waterfall and pool for fresh water, a shrine to Talos, and a note left behind by that Blades member, Bolar. With it was his blade, which I took to later stick on a display.

I came out in time to see a Thalmor patrol and quickly ducked behind some rocks until they got out of range. Just in case. When I started moving again I realized there were a lot of people on the road for it being midnight. I would arrive at Whiterun soon and could get some (uneasy) sleep.

After I woke up I checked in with Lydia for messages and swore. ‘Why do people send requests for me to take care of bandits and feral beasts in homes when the Companions are right up the damn street? Do they expect their legendary Nord hero to do the jobs with a smile and no expectation of reward?’

I walked in on Avenicci and the Jarl’s brother, Hrongar, having a conversation, right there in plain sight and hearing of Balgruuf. Hrongar was trying to get Avenicci to persuade the Jarl to effort in the war and Avenicci basically told him to say it himself and not try to go through him.

Avenicci, of course, was all about avoiding the war, even to the point of having protested aid being sent to Riverwood because it might have caused Jarl Siddgeir in Falkreath to get the wrong idea. But really? To advise denying people of your own hold necessary aid? Avenicci was a coward and didn’t even seem to bother to understand the Nord people. I can’t blame him for wanting to avoid the civil war or being the mouthpiece of someone whose views he disagreed with, but. . . .

The Jarl greeted me when I approached and I responded with, “I am in need of your help. I need to trap a dragon in your palace.”

Balgruuf’s expression went blank for a moment. “I must have misheard you. I thought you asked me to help you trap a dragon in my palace.”

“You heard correctly. I hope you know I would not ask something so outrageous were it not so important.”

“. . .Of course. You already saved Whiterun from that dragon. I owe you a great deal. But I don’t understand. Why let a dragon into the heart of my city when we’ve been working so hard to keep them out?”

“Ah. The threat is worse than just dragons. Alduin has returned,” I said, hoping that as a Nord he would know what that meant.

“Alduin? The World-Eater himself?” Balgruuf sat up properly for a moment, then subsided. “But . . . how can we fight him? Doesn’t his return mean it’s the end times?”

“Yes, the World-Eater. And maybe it is, but I plan to go down fighting, and to do that I need to be able to find out where he went before it’s too late. That means trapping a dragon.”

“Spoken like a true Nord,” Balgruuf said, making me frown a bit beneath my mask even though I knew he meant in a good way. “I’ll stand beside you, Dragonborn. And Whiterun will stand with you. But I need your help first. Ulfric and General Tullius are both just waiting for me to make a wrong move. Do you think they will sit idle as a dragon is slaughtering my men and burning my city? No. I can’t risk weakening the city while we are under the threat of an enemy attack.”

“So first that needs to be dealt with,” I almost muttered. “Perhaps a temporary cease fire.”

“Getting both sides to agree to a truce will be difficult at this point. The bitterness has gone too deep. Maybe . . . hmm . . . what of the Greybeards? They are respected by all Nords. High Hrothgar is neutral territory. If the Greybeards are willing to host a peace council . . . then maybe Ulfric and Tullius would have to listen.”

I nodded. It wasn’t a bad idea. “Leave that to me. I’ll speak with Master Arngeir about hosting a peace council.”

“Aye, Dragonborn. Maybe you can stop the dragons—and this war into the bargain.”

‘That might be a bit much,’ I thought. ‘I expect nothing more than a temporary cease fire, but that’s all we need right now.’ I gave him a respectful incline of my head and hastened off, unhappy that I would have to climb the mountain again so soon, and knowing that if they agreed, I would be back down, to either end of Skyrim, and back up again.

Five hours later and I was outside High Hrothgar, tired and cranky. I never used to be this cranky or prone to anger. Maybe it was the dragon souls? It wasn’t a will to dominate, not like those Dragonborn in the stories, Reman and Tiber, just crankiness, irritation, anger—a base dislike or loathing of stupidity and being discounted. But I had always been like that to an extent, ever since I was infected. Being a vampire did things to your way of thinking. Being Dragonborn exacerbated certain of those traits.

I tracked down Arngeir and sighed. “I’m afraid I need your help in capturing that dragon.”

Before I could elaborate he replied. “We are not warriors. What is overlooked in the Dragonborn is not permitted to any other followers of the Way of the Voice.”

“I understand that,” I said. “And I would never think to ask any of you to fight. That would be blatantly disrespectful. To capture that dragon I need is your help to stop the war, even temporarily.”

“You misunderstand our authority,” he said, kindling irritation within me at his misapprehensions and failure to give me the chance to explain fully before jumping in. “The Greybeards have never involved themselves in political affairs.”

I nodded. “This I also understand. However, Jarl Balgruuf cannot help me while the war rages and both sides are just waiting for an opportunity to attack Whiterun. He thought perhaps that your reputation and that of High Hrothgar might provide a neutral setting for both sides to convene, to get them to agree to the cease fire needed. _Both_ sides respect you.”

Arngeir was silent for a time. He seemed pleased that I did understand their limitations—ones they imposed on themselves—but also uneasy at actually taking part in even a small way. “Paarthurnax has made the decision to help you,” he finally said. “This is the road we have to walk. Even the Greybeards must bend to the winds of change, it seems. So be it. Tell Ulfric and General Tullius that the Greybeards wish to speak with them. We will see if they still remember us.”

“Thank you, Master Arngeir.”

###### The Fallen; Season Unending  
Morning Star, 24th, 4E 202

Windhelm was a problem for me. The absolute last thing I wished to do was appear before Ulfric as the Dragonborn, not after receiving more than one entreaty to join his damn army. But—ah, now there was an idea. Jorleif knew me already, from having handled the issue of the Butcher. It was with that reasoning that I had ended up at Candlehearth the night previous as myself and rented a room.

I entered the Palace of Kings and immediately noticed Ulfric was on his throne. I swallowed in distaste and went to Jorleif and, wearing a half annoyed, half perplexed expression, offered him a note I had thought up the night previous. “I was waylaid on my way into the city to do some shopping and more or less ordered to come here,” I said, letting exasperation colour my voice. “I figured I would come talk to you, because at least you know me and would have some idea what to do.”

He read the note and frowned, then glanced back at Ulfric. “Wait a moment,” he said, then went over to speak with the Jarl quietly. After a bit I was motioned over.

“You have a message from the Greybeards, the note said,” Ulfric said to me. “It’s about time they turned their gazes from the heavens, back to our bleeding homeland. What do they want?”

I glanced down at a different piece of parchment I’d prepared, then looked up and said softly, trying my very best to ensure any rumbling of power was not present in my voice, “They want to negotiate a truce until the dragon menace is dealt with.”

“I have the greatest respect for the Greybeards, of course,” he said, implying that he did not. “And the dragon attacks are a growing plague. But the political situation is still delicate. Not all the Jarls are fully committed to supporting me as High King. I can’t afford to appear weak. I can’t agree to this unless Tullius himself will be there.”

Ulfric was a Nord, so—“Please forgive my impertinence, Jarl Ulfric, but politics mean little when Alduin has returned.”

“Alduin? The World-Eater of song and legend?”

“I was assured that this is the case,” I said earnestly. “That Alduin was the black dragon at Helgen.”

“If that’s true,” he said, “well, it changes the situation doesn’t it? Even Tullius may be forced to talk sense in the face of such a threat. Who stopped you and gave you the message to deliver? Describe them.”

“A woman in armor; it made me think of dragons to look at it. But I could not see her face,” I said with a shake of my head. “Her voice was like a rumble of thunder.”

Ulfric looked displeased that the Dragonborn had been so close and had chosen to avoid him rather than deliver the message in person. “I see. You may go.”

I inclined my head and stepped away, hearing him give orders to one of his men as I departed. He would be coming, so I just had to get to Solitude and convince Tullius.

###### Morning Star, 24th, 4E 202

I arrived late and went to Proudspire Manor. Though I could go to Tullius in the morning and get it out of the way, I wanted to give Ulfric an extra day or so to get to High Hrothgar so that the two parties would absolutely not meet up on the way. I had made sure to dispatch a courier to Jarl Balgruuf with the news on the way.

###### Morning Star, 25th, 4E 202

Lucia would like to be a bard; who knew? She was living in the right city for it. Blaise still wanted to be in the Legion. I gave them each toys I had picked up along the way and spent some time with them. I might not be their mother, but I tried to be kind to them above and beyond having given them a decent home. Jordis had nothing of note to discuss with me, so things were fine, and I made sure she had plenty of coin to keep the place running.

###### Morning Star, 26th, 4E 202

I slipped out very early and under the cover of invisibility found a place to change identities. When it was late enough I headed to Castle Dour to speak with General Tullius. One of the guards pointed the way, and a guard at the door opened it for me.

Inside I heard Tullius and one of his people talking about a potential attack on Whiterun by Ulfric. Not good news for Balgruuf and I could see why he’d be hesitant to go with my plan without better assurances. Tullius was easier on my nerves to deal with, though still not immediately amenable. He seemed irritated that I would just walk in and interrupt his tactics meeting or whatever it was until I said, “I bring a message from the Greybeards,” taking care to let the rumble of dragon souls and power alter my voice.

“The Greybeards?” he asked skeptically. “What do those old hermits want with me?”

“They’re convening a peace council at High Hrothgar,” I said and was immediately interrupted.

“There’s nothing to discuss as long as that traitor Ulfric is in arms against his rightful Emperor,” Tullius said with only partly-masked heat.

“A truce is needed until the dragon menace is dealt with,” I stated.

“They are getting to be a problem,” Tullius admitted. “But I wasn’t sent to Skyrim to fight dragons. My job is to quell this rebellion, and I intend to do just that, dragons or no dragons.”

“There are several problems with that,” I said, and plowed on before he could object to what I said. “First, I have witnessed your Legionnaires bogged down in dragon fights, which neuters your effectiveness, though I expect the Stormcloaks are having similar problems. Second, the Empire cannot afford to snub the Greybeards, not while fighting in a Nord country. Third, though I expect you will not see it the way a Nord would, Alduin, World-Eater of legend, has returned, and that means that all of this is irrelevant if he holds the power legend assigns him.”

Tullius sighed and relaxed his stance. “You may have a point. It’s getting difficult to even move troops around without attracting a dragon attack. Even Ulfric might see the sense of a truce under these conditions. If I had the reinforcements I need—but most of the Legion is tied down at the border with the Aldmeri Dominion. The Emperor can’t afford to risk weakening Cyrodiil’s defenses. From the Imperial City, our war here is just a sideshow. An interlude before the main event against the Thalmor resumes.”

“You will come to the peace council, then?” I asked, making a mental note of his views on the Thalmor, though wondering why he chose to share that information with me.

“Yes. Yes, fine, I’ll come to this Greybeard council. For all the good it will do.”

###### Morning Star, 28th, 4E 202

As I was leaving the sleeping area I heard Delphine speaking to Arngeir. ‘What is she doing here?’

“So. Arngeir, is it? You know why we’re here. Are you going to let us in or not? We have as much right to be at this council as all of you. More, actually, since we were the ones who put the Dragonborn on this path.”

‘I must not kill Delphine,’ I thought. Just a few words and I was back to being angry and ready to kill. Gods above, the woman made me homicidal.

“Delphine,” Esbern said, “we’re not here to rehearse old grudges. The matter at hand is urgent. Alduin must be stopped. You wouldn’t have called this council if you didn’t agree. We know a great deal about the situation and the threat that Alduin poses to us all. You need us here if you want this council to succeed.”

‘Well, no,’ I thought. ‘Arngeir would prefer none of them be here to disturb their meditations or draw them into politics. He’s a pacifistic fatalist.’

“Very well,” Arngeir said after a long pause. “You may enter.”

I waited until they had walked away before fully emerging. “So, you’ve done it,” Arngeir said to me. “The men of violence are gathered here, in this hall whose very stones are dedicated to peace. I should not have agreed to host this council. The Greybeards have no business involving ourselves in such matters.”

‘For the love of Kyne,’ I thought. ‘Stop taking it out on me. You agreed because Paarthurnax chose to help me. Don’t make me the guilty one here and you the bullied and oppressed victim.’ “Without this, it’s like saying Akatosh made me Dragonborn on a whim, and teased the world with a false hope,” I said as evenly as I could. “This was the only way to get Jarl Balgruuf’s help.”

“Yes, yes. Which is why I allowed this . . . violation of all our traditions. But regrets are pointless. Let us go into the council chamber and take our places, and let us see what wisdom we can find amongst these warriors of Skyrim.”


	24. 6.8 Dovahkiin

25042015

## 6.8

###### The Fallen; Season Unending  
Morning Star, 28th, 4E 202

Arngeir and I walked to the council chamber, where all parties were situated. Arngeir waved me to the seat at the far end of the table while he stood behind the end chair nearest the entrance. Arngeir said, “Now that everyone is here, please take your seats so we can begin.”

From that place, the chair to my immediate left had Legate Rikke, with General Tullius and Jarl Elisif following, Thalmor Emissary Elenwen, and finally Jarl Balgruuf. To my immediate right the chair was empty, but Jarl Ulfric and his right-hand man Galmar took up places, along with Delphine and Esbern.

“I hope that we have all come here in the spirit of—”

“No,” Ulfric interrupted, and pointed at Elenwen. “You insult us by bringing her to this negotiation? Your chief Talos-hunter?”

“That didn’t take long,” Rikke muttered.

“Hear, hear!” Galmar said in support of his Jarl’s objection.

“I have every right to be at this negotiation,” Elenwen said haughtily. “I need to ensure that nothing is agreed to here that violates the terms of the White-Gold Concordat.”

“She’s part of the Imperial delegation,” Tullius said almost wearily. “You can’t dictate who I bring to this council.”

Arngeir raised his hands a little to garner attention. “Please. If we have to negotiate the terms of the negotiation, we will never get anywhere. Perhaps this would be a good time to get the Dragonborn’s input on this matter.”

‘Oh great.’ As I went to speak Ulfric sprang out of his chair and said, “By Ysmir’s beard, the nerve of those Imperial bastards, eh? To think that I would sit at the same table with that . . . Thalmor bitch. Either she walks or I do.”

I steepled my hands in front of me. “I can see absolutely nothing about the goal of this conference that would touch on the White-Gold Concordat,” I said, letting my voice thrum with power. “Input from the Aldmeri Dominion is therefore unnecessary, but having the Emissary _audit_ the proceedings causes no particular harm. She may stay.”

“But she is to observe, nothing more,” Ulfric insisted, taking his seat again. “We are not negotiating with her, is that clear?”

“Ulfric, why so hostile? After all—”

“Emissary,” I cut in sternly. “You are here in an observational capacity. Do not test the patience of those present by antagonizing participants. It is unbecoming of one of your station.”

Elenwen turned a cold look on me, but settled back.

“Now that that’s settled, may we proceed?” Arngeir invited.

“I have something to say first,” Ulfric replied.

“Here we go,” Rikke muttered.

“The only reason I agreed to attend this council was to deal with the dragon menace. There’s nothing else to talk about, unless the Empire is finally ready to renounce its unjust claim to rule over the free people of Skyrim.”

“I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist,” Rikke further muttered.

I was annoyed, but not surprised, by Ulfric’s inability to let us get on with the point of the council, never mind that his “free people of Skyrim” did not include anyone but Nords.

“We’re here to offer a temporary truce to allow the Dragonborn here to deal with the dragons. Nothing more. I consider even talking to the Empire a generous gesture.”

It seemed that Tullius agreed with me. “Are you done? Did you just come here to make speeches? Or can we get down to business?”

“Yes, let’s get this over with.”

“Are we ready . . . to proceed?” Arngeir tried again. “Jarl Ulfric. General Tullius. This council is unprecedented. We are gathered here at the Dragonborn’s request. I ask that you all respect the spirit of High Hrothgar, and do your best to begin the process of achieving a lasting peace in Skyrim. Who would like to open the negotiations?”

“Yes, let’s get down to it,” Ulfric said quickly. “We want control of Markarth. That’s our price for agreeing to a truce.”

Which made me think of the Markarth incident, at the very least.

“So that’s why you’re here, Ulfric?” Elisif said angrily. “You dare to insult the Greybeards by using this council to advance your own position?”

“Jarl Elisif,” Tullius said, “I’ll handle this.”

“General, this is outrageous!” she nearly yelled. “You can’t be taking this demand seriously! I thought we were here to discuss the truce!”

“Elisif!” Tullius said sternly. “I said I’d handle it. Ulfric, you can’t seriously expect us to give up Markarth at the negotiating table. You hope to gain in council what you’ve been unable to take in battle, is that it?”

“I’m sure Jarl Ulfric does not expect something for nothing,” Arngeir said reasonably.

“Yes, that’d be entirely out of character,” Rikke muttered.

I rather liked her, actually, for her sarcasm, but she was not making the best of impressions overall by constantly sniping. She counted as a delegate, though, unlike Elenwen, so I did nothing to repress her.

“What would the Empire want in return?” Arngeir asked.

“Wait,” Elisif said a bit desperately. “General, you don’t intend to just hand over Markarth to that . . . traitor!”

“Enough!” Tullius replied. “First, let’s be clear. This council wasn’t my idea. I think it’s a waste of time. You are a traitor to the Empire,” he said to Ulfric, “and deserve a traitor’s death. But I at least will negotiate in good faith.” He turned to me and continued, “Since we’re all here at your request, I’d like to hear what you think Markarth is worth.”

I let my eyes dart around on an imaginary map in front of me. Markarth was a foothold in Empire-controlled territory. The logical exchange would be a decent-sized foothold in Stormcloak territory. I looked back at him and said, “Riften.”

Tullius looked thoughtful. “Hmm. The Rift would help secure our communications with Cyrodiil . . . and threaten Ulfric’s southern flank. . . . Well, Ulfric? We’ve made you a fair offer. Are you serious about these talks, or are you just here to posture?”

“I expected better from you, Dragonborn,” Ulfric said to me. “I came here in good faith, and now it seems you help the Empire at every turn.”

“A major hold for a major hold,” I replied.

Ulfric turned away. “As for you, General Tullius, I see now that Galmar was right. Talking to the Empire is just as useless as ever. If you think you can hold Markarth, you’re as deluded as your Emperor when he signed away our freedom to the Thalmor. Skyrim will never again bow to your false Empire! Let’s go, Galmar. I should have listened to you in the first place.”

As Ulfric stood up in preparation to flounce out Tullius said, “You always were a fool, Ulfric. You’re no better at diplomacy than you are on the battlefield.”

Esbern chose that moment to get involved. “Stop! Are you so blind to our danger that you can’t see past your petty disagreements? Here you sit arguing about . . . nothing! While the fate of the land hangs in the balance!”

‘Thanks for the assist, Esbern,’ I thought, ‘but was it necessary to insult Tullius, too?’

“Is he with you, Delphine?” Ulfric demanded, making me wonder just when he’d run across her before—the Great War? “If so, I advise you to tell him to watch his tongue.”

“He _is_ with me. And I advise you both to listen to what he has to say, before you do anything rash.”

‘Oh, you are good about giving him credit when it’s convenient.’

“Don’t you understand the danger?” Esbern said passionately, and with not a little disappointment, like that of a teacher whose student has failed a lesson. “Don’t you understand what the return of the dragons means? Alduin has returned! The World-Eater! Even now, he devours the souls of your fallen comrades! He grows more powerful with every soldier slain in your pointless war! Can you not put aside your hatred for even one moment in the face of this mortal danger?”

I had to think, despite greatly disliking Esbern including Tullius in his censure, that in doing so he did not throw all his scorn directly at the real target, so that Ulfric would not get that much more upset and offended.

Elenwen attempted to disrupt things further. “A very pretty speech—”

“Emissary!” I said angrily, the power of the Voice even more evident. “You are here to observe. Do not make me ask you to leave.”

She glared at me and sat back.

“I don’t know about the end of the world, but this dragon situation has gotten out of hand. If this truce will help the Dragonborn put an end to that menace, we both gain. Remember that, Ulfric. Now, back to the matter at hand.”

“Don’t hand me a mug of sheep’s piss and call it mead,” Ulfric said. “These terms are still not acceptable.”

“I’m sure you have something in mind,” Tullius replied wryly.

“Damn right we do,” Galmar answered.

“You surrender Hjaalmarch to us, and take Idgrod Ravencrone with you. Sorli the Builder will take over as Jarl of Morthal.”

As if I would willingly depose Idgrod!

“Where do these demands stop, Ulfric? Do you expect me to surrender all of Skyrim?”

“It seems I have no choice but to let the Dragonborn decide. Although I’m starting to doubt your fairness. What say you, Dragonborn.”

“I will repeat: A major hold for a major hold. Each has its unique advantages. I am not here to decide the outcome to a war. I am here to see to it that Alduin can be stopped before every last life on Nirn is destroyed. The Empire need not give up any more territory for what will obviously only be a temporary cease fire. I’m sure you know the phrase: Evgir Unslaad.”

Ulfric shook his head mournfully. “I can see that we won’t get better terms from this council. So be it. The sons of Skyrim at least put the greater good above our own interests.”

I had to hold back from rolling my eyes at his dramatics. I had a good mind to go join the damn Imperials if I managed to off Alduin and live through the experience just to see the arrogant look wiped off his racist face when I destroyed his cause.

“It seems we may have an agreement,” Arngeir said into the slight lull. “Jarl Ulfric. General Tullius. These are the terms currently on the table. Markarth will be handed over to Ulfric’s forces. Jarl Igmund will step down, and Thongvor Silver-Blood will become Jarl of Markarth. The Stormcloaks will withdraw from the Rift, allowing Imperial troops unhindered access. Jarl Laila Law-Giver will step down, and Maven Black-Briar will become the Jarl of Riften.”

‘Well now, there’s something I hadn’t anticipated. But it might aid Brynjolf and his lot. She pretty much ran the city already anyway.’

“You both agree to this?”

“The sons of Skyrim will live up to their agreements,” Ulfric said. “But once Alduin is defeated, then it will change. You should be pleased, Elisif. You’ve done well for yourself as the Empire’s pet Jarl. But beware—the Empire’s loyalty is fickle. They will tire of this war, and then I will be the one dictating terms to you.”

I nearly rolled my eyes again. ‘Right, taunt the widow of the man you killed, and who has not yet had enough time to learn how to properly rule a hold, though Falk seems to be doing all he can to teach her gently.’

Elisif turned away in disgust. “I have noting to say to that murderer. General, you’ve proven yourself a good friend to Skyrim. I continue to trust that you will do your utmost to safeguard our interests.”

Come to think of it, it was strange to see her there without Falk to temper her naïvety and exuberance.

“Thank you, Jarl Elisif. I appreciate your loyalty. The Empire can live with these terms, yes. For a temporary truce, until the dragon menace is dealt with. After that, Ulfric, there will be a reckoning. Count on it.”

I did give Tullius that much credit. He had managed to capture Ulfric once already.

“Come on, Galmar,” Ulfric said, rising from his seat. “We’ve a lot of work to do.”

Balgruuf waited until Ulfric and Galmar had left before addressing me. “Giving up Markarth is a heavy price for this truce, Dragonborn. I hope it was worth it.” He sounded not so much accusatory as worried.

“It is unfortunate that any territory had to change hands, Jarl Balgruuf, in order to secure the cease fire. But what is, is.” I got up and walked around a little to stretch my legs.

“Jarl Balgruuf,” Arngeir said, “I assume you are familiar with the Dragonborn’s plan?”

He nodded. “Yes, I’m ready to do my part. Just say the word, and my men will help you spring this trap.”

“But the difficulty remains—how to lure a dragon to Dragonsreach at all?”

Before I could reply Tullius said, “Well, that’s an excellent question. You haven’t overlooked that little detail, have you?”

My temper was rising again. True, I could have gone up to see Paarthurnax the night previous to inquire, but I was sick to death of running around at that point and wanted a rest.

“Ah,” said Esbern, and I knew another long rambling speech was about to ensue. “I believe I can be of help here. I anticipated this problem and have been busy in the library of Sky Haven Temple. An unguessed trove of lost lore . . . but the important thing is that the Blades recorded many of the names of dragons they slew.”

I blinked in shock. ‘Did he just say what I think he did, in front of Emissary Elenwen? Thalmor bitch? After his head and Delphine’s? Why not just give her a map, Esbern, and invite her for tea? Bad enough Ulfric identified Delphine earlier.’

“I cross-referenced this with Delphine’s map of dragon burial sites, and I believe I’ve identified one of the dragons that Alduin has raised up.” When half the room looked blank in that moment Esbern said disbelievingly, “Ah, don’t you see? The names of dragons are always three—”

“I already know that dragon names are Shouts,” I said sharply. “I’m hardly as ignorant as you seem to think and I’ve been places you’ve not dreamed of. _What name_?”

He looked a little taken aback, and disappointed that his audience wouldn’t be able to listen to a lecture, but readily enough said, “I’m no master of the Voice like these worthy gentlemen, but it is written here in this scroll. Od-Ah-Viing. ‘Winged Snow Hunter’ as I read it.”

‘Close enough,’ I thought and nodded. It wasn’t like I could call in Durnehviir for the information. Which reminded me I needed to work on that for the poor guy.

Tullius and his group began to leave, Balgruuf amongst them.

“You did well here today,” Arngeir told me. “I don’t think the truce will last long, but that will not be on your account.”

I shrugged. “I never expected it would, Master Arngeir. I just need a little breathing room.”

Arngeir walked away and I thought I might go relax for a while, to give the parties time to get down the mountain before I went to Whiterun. And then Delphine stopped me.

“I know,” she said.

“What is it you know,” I said with disinterest.

“I know that the leader of the Greybeards, this Paarthurnax, is a dragon. He _needs_ to die. He deserves to die. And it falls to you to kill him. Until he’s dead, well, I’m sorry, but we would dishonor our oaths as Blades if we continued to help you.”

There it was again, the anger, the fury, welling up inside of me. “Oh? Finally cracked open a book?” I asked snidely. “Or paid attention to Esbern’s research? Why does he need to die?”

She scowled at me. “Here’s the big picture. He helped Alduin enslave our ancestors. He may have betrayed Alduin in the end, but that makes him worse, not better. We can’t afford to give Paarthurnax the opportunity to betray us in turn, and return to his old master. The Blades have been hunting him for centuries, but he was protected by the Greybeards and then the Emperors. Justice demands that he die for his crimes. Make your choice, Dragonborn. You’re either with us or against us.”

“Oh, wow,” I said softly. “I am stunned.”

“So you agree,” she said confidently.

“The Akaviri Dragonguard and the Blades were sworn to the Dragonborn Emperors. Did they question the decisions and authority of Reman Cyrodiil or Tiber Septim? As you are?”

“Those were different times, and proven leaders. No one had reason to question either one of them.”

There was a volcano erupting inside me. “Your oaths are obviously as useful as a dead dog,” I said with loathing. “Bruniikke!” I roared. “Savages! That is what you have become. You can’t even see your own hypocrisy. You disgust me. Get out! You will leave this mountain or I will _Shout_ you off it!”

Delphine paled and took a step back, but her face was filled with self-righteous arrogance. She opened her mouth to say something, but Esbern grabbed her arm. She attempted to shake him off, but he persisted, and dragged her away. I followed them to ensure they left, shaking with anger, though I knew it would be next to impossible for them to reach the peak—not with that bizarre storm up there disintegrating the unwary and unarmed.

Arngeir ghosted up beside me.

“I apologize. I lost my temper,” I told him.

“They are bloodthirsty barbarians,” he replied. “Will you kill them?”

I looked over at him in surprise. “No. No matter how much I may fantasize about it. Not unless they attack me first. I don’t understand that woman, I really don’t. She tried to convince me that you were all so afraid of power that you refuse to use it. She can’t see that there are different ways to use the same power, and that learning any of this isn’t like learning how to use a sword. They both take effort and time and discipline, but that’s months against years or decades. People who have to invest that much usually aren’t willing to use it frivolously. I have never in my life felt such hatred, but Delphine managed to invoke it.” I shook my head. “I’m going to see Paarthurnax and cool off. Get some advice on luring Odahviing. I’ll be back to get some rest before heading out.”

To his credit Arngeir simply nodded. He trusted that I was true to my earlier words.

Up on the peak Paarthurnax was not upset at being disturbed, thankfully. We greeted each other and then I shook my head. “The Blades tried to convince me to kill you. I get the whole bit about past crimes against humanity and all, but I’d like to think you’ve more than made up for following Alduin in the first place.”

“The Blades are wise not to trust me. Onikaan ni ov. I would not trust another dovah,” Paarthurnax replied. “Dov wahlaan fah rel. We were made to dominate. The will to power is in our blood. You feel it in yourself, do you not?”

I shrugged. I thought I was surprisingly normal, actually, but that might have something to do with being introduced to increasing power on a more gradual basis.

“I can be trusted. I know this. But they do not. Onikaan ni ov dovah. It is always wise to mistrust a dovah. I have overcome my nature only through meditation and long study of the Way of the Voice. No day goes by where I am not tempted to return to my inborn nature. Zin krif horvut se suleyk. What is better—to be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?”

“It’s the ones who think they’re so good they can’t see the consequences of their decisions I don’t trust,” I commented. “They’ll find any justification to excuse their actions because they think they must be right. Do you think Odahviing will come when I Shout his name at Dragonsreach? Won’t he assume it’s a trap?”

“The dov are prideful by nature. Few could resist such a challenge. Especially from you, Dovahkiin. But Odahviing, I remember him well. He is . . . headstrong? Boziik. Rash. Even amongst the dov he was known for this. He will not resist the challenge of your Voice. He will come. Now—hear his name. Odahviing. Taste it on the wind. Od-ah-viing. Know it in your su’um. Od-ah-viing!”

###### The Fallen  
Morning Star, 29th, 4E 202

I arrived at Whiterun before mid-day and as I walked past Breezehome I thought that I might never go inside it again. I felt only minimally bad for Lydia, being housecarl to a Thane who was rarely ever around. But if the Dragonborn could disappear. . . . Killing Alduin would not make the other dragons simply disappear, but it would mean no more could be resurrected. I would simply have to be careful.

I decided that Ulfric would have been disappointed or even angry no matter what so long as the truce did not favor him overtly. If I started being attacked by Stormcloaks, though, all bets were off, and I would join the Imperials and do my damnedest to bring an end to the war. The Thalmor wanted it to drag on and on, so maybe helping was just the thing to do anyway.

On my way up to Dragonsreach I was stopped by Farkas, which surprised me. “Yes?” I asked, making sure my voice held power, hoping he would not actually recognize me.

“Gossip says you go to Sovngarde.”

I nodded. “That is the intention.”

“If you—if you see a man there, Kodlak Whitemane. . . .”

I nodded again. “I will look and get word to you, should I return.”

Farkas seemed satisfied with that and took off for Jorrvaskr after thanking me.

Balgruuf was on his throne, and gained a look of excitement when he saw me.

“Are you ready to spring the trap?” I asked him.

“As promised, my men stand ready. The great chains are oiled. We wait on your word. Now that it’s upon us, I’m rather looking forward to the challenge. I’ll be famouser than Olaf One-Eye!”

I refrained from laughing and nodded. “Then it is time. Let us go trap a dragon.”

Balgruuf rose and nodded to Irileth, who took off. “My men know what to do. Make sure you do your part. I’m putting my city in your hands.”

I followed him upstairs and through the grand doors at the back, where the balcony area was, the one you could see from quite a distance away coming from the north. Irileth was already there, as were a number of guards. One each was up on the walk to either side, while others milled around the area. A glance upward showed the mechanism used to capture Numinex, or a replication. So long as it worked that was all that mattered.

“Go ahead and call this dragon of yours,” Balgruuf said. “We’re ready.”

I walked out to the end of the balcony and gazed up at the sky. I took a deep breath and Shouted. “ _Odahviing_!!”

Nothing happened for long moments, but I trusted what Paarthurnax had told me. And then I heard the sound of a roar, but couldn’t quite place from which direction.

“Hear that?” a guard nearby said, then shrieked in terror when he was snatched up and flung out into the distance. His screams of fright trailed off into nothingness as he fell to his death.

“Over there!” Balgruuf yelled.

“Shor’s bones, here he comes!” yelled a guard.

“Hold your fire until he’s close!” Balgruuf ordered.

I just stood there, waiting. And then Odahviing was there. He had swooped up from underneath and hovered there in front of us. “Dovahkiin! Here I am!” he called, then unleashed fire on the balcony area.

I started backing up slowly as I Shouted, “ _Joor Zah Frul_!” I didn’t want to hurt him all that much so I refrained from summoning an atronach, and I knew the guards’ arrows wouldn’t cause much harm. He landed on the balcony and began to come at me.

I continued backing up slowly, sending lightning and the occasional Shout, and trying not to look anywhere but at the dragon. And then the guards released the stops on the chains and the mechanism dropped, neatly trapping Odahviing under a dragon-sized yoke.

“Nid!”

“Got him!” Balgruuf said happily.

“I th-think it’s holding,” a nervous guard stuttered.

I walked forward to stand in front of the dragon. Sure, he could Shout at me some more, but he couldn’t lunge, and I was more wary of his teeth than his Voice.

“Horvutah med kodnaav. Caught like a bear in a trap. Zok frini grind ko grah drun viiki, Dovahkiin.”

“True,” I replied. “But then I was counting on that.”

Odahviing snorted, causing one of the guards to skitter back like a frightened skeever. “I salute your, hmm, low cunning in devising such a grahmindol—stratagem. Zu’u bonaar. You went to a great deal of trouble to put me in this . . . humiliating position. Hind siiv Alduin, hmm?”

“Yes, I do. Where is he hiding?”

He snorted again, I thought in amusement. “Rinik vazah. An apt phrase. Alduin bovul. One reason I came to your call was to test your Thu’um for myself. Many of us have begun to question Alduin’s lordship, whether his Thu’um is truly the strongest. Amongst ourselves, of course. Mu ni meyye.”

I snorted softly.

“None were yet ready to openly defy him.”

“You were telling me where to find Alduin?” I prodded, wondering if all dragons were chatty when they weren’t causing chaos.

“Unslaad krosis. I digress. He has traveled to Sovngarde to regain his strength, devouring the sillesejoor. A privilege he jealously guards. His door to Sovngarde is at Skuldafn, one of his ancient fanes high in the eastern mountains. I surely do not need to warn you that all his remaining strength is marshaled there. Zu’u lost ofan hin laan. You will now allow me to go free?”

I eyed him thoughtfully, Paarthurnax’s words ringing in my ears. “After Alduin has been defeated,” I temporized.

Odahviing lowered his head slightly. “Ah. Well. Hmm, krosis. There is one . . . detail about Skuldafn I neglected to mention.”

I smiled to myself. “And what would that be?”

“Only this. You have the Thu’um of a dovah, but without the wings of one, you will never set foot in Skuldafn. Of course . . . I could fly you there. But not while imprisoned like this.”

I eyed him again. If he spoke the truth I had no choice but to set him free. He _had_ spoken, though, and suggested a solution. He was headstrong, but also surprisingly reasonable having been humbled. I sincerely wished I could read a dragon the way I could a mortal, but it wasn’t as though I could skip off to see Paarthurnax to get his advice before making a decision. “I will release you in exchange for your promise to transport me to Skuldafn.”

“Onikraan koraav gein miraad. It is wise to recognize when you only have one choice. And you can trust me. Zu’u ni tahrodiis. Alduin has proven himself unworthy to rule. I go my own way now. Free me, and I will carry you to Skuldafn.”

I nodded. “Deal.” I signaled the guards at the chains right before Farengar skittered up giddily and said, “Incredible! Uh . . . sir, you have no idea how long I have waited for such an opportunity! I would be most appreciative if you would permit me to perform some, ah, tests on you. Purely—”

I sent the signal again. Gods forbid Farengar muck up this deal for me. The guards must have gotten approval from Balgruuf because they winched back the yoke. Odahviing straightened up and Farengar scrambled back out of reach. Maybe I would deliver some materials to Farengar later, but. . . .

Odahviing awkwardly turned around and stomped off to the edge of the balcony, then looked back at me, so I jogged up to come even with his head. “Faas nu, zini dein ruthi ahst vaal.

“By all the gods,” I could hear Irileth murmur.

“Saraan uth. Are you ready to see the world as only a dovah can?”

I nodded and began climbing up to perch on his neck. “I’m ready. Take me to Skuldafn.”

“Zok brit uth! I warn you, once you’ve flown the skies of Keizaal, your envy of the dov will only increase. Amativ! Mu bo kotin stinselok.”

As Odahviing launched into the air I could hear Irileth again. “You are either the bravest person I’ve ever met, or the biggest fool.”

And then Balgruuf. “May Kynareth guard you while you pass through her realm.”


	25. 6.9 Dovahkiin

25042015

## 6.9

###### The World-Eater’s Eyrie  
Morning Star, 29th, 4E 202

Odahviing was true to his word. There was no way I could possibly have climbed up to Skuldafn under my own power. He landed in a clear spot leading to the temple area and ducked down so I could dismount. “This is as far as I can take you. Krif voth ahkrin. I will look for your return, or Alduin’s.”

“Kogaan, Odahviing. Lok, Thu’um.”

He dipped his head briefly and then launched skyward. I turned my gaze on the complex of buildings and located some draugr. For once I tried to be more stealthy. I crouched down and conjured a bound bow, nocked an arrow, drew back fully, and released it at the nearest one. I even scored a hit. Unfortunately, my skill was not such that I downed it, though I continued to shoot as it scurried around looking for the source of the attack.

I admit I got bored fairly quickly and reverted to my usual tactics. A summon, fire, and—I cackled in amusement after bowling several draugr over with Unrelenting Force. A dragon decided to join in on the fun, warning, “Skuldafn fen kos dinok,” before attempting to roast me. Then the silly thing tried to eat my flame atronach.

The various draugr were obviously under certain orders because while the ones on higher levels would snipe at me from above they would not actually come down after me, so I was able to take care of the ones nearby and the dragon without being overwhelmed.

Even so, there were too many damn Deathlords in the place! I got in some more bow practice, and also spent some time dancing out of range while constantly calling in summons. No reason not to, really. I just rather wished I had already mastered Conjuration to the point where I could bring in more than one summon at a time to keep the draugr forces that much more divided as to targets.

I eventually fought my way over to a place built into the side of the mountain, killing another dragon along the way, and went inside. Cleared that out and poked around, but there wasn’t much of interest there, sadly. From the balcony off the upper floor I could see the area better. The portal was on the highest level, and there were at least six of those counting the ground. There was no visible way to get to it easily so I figured I would have to go through the building underneath it.

Downstairs and back outside I continued on and was surprised by a draugr popping out of a narrow tower. Draugr on the upper level were aiming at me, as well, and some of them, those up the dual, wide stairs behind the tower, made their way down to join the fight, doing their best to skewer me with arrows. They hit hard, too.

But eventually I made it up the stairs and cleared out all the remaining draugr. I could go through the massive doors into that building, but there was another building like the one below built into the cliff, so I checked there first. Besides, night had fallen, and I was getting tired of fighting. After I cleared the place out (no decent loot again) I dragged one of those low Nord bookcases (or whatever they were) to block the door and retreated upstairs to get some rest.

###### Morning Star, 30th, 4E 202

The building under the portal had plenty of Deathlords and lesser draugr in the initial area. I amused myself by jumping up onto the edge of one of the gigantic braziers, and then up onto the top of the wall it was next to. From there I could summon indefinitely and let them do the work. I don’t know, it just seemed hilarious to summon in various forms of Daedra or undead to battle the undead.

There was one of those Nord pillar puzzles, but those were never a challenge when they almost always left hints in the area. And another one. And then I entered one of those long, wide hallways with carvings to either side and a puzzle door at the end. The Deathlord guarding it had a diamond claw key, which naturally I put to use.

There was a word wall along the way: Strun—Storm. A handful of valuable gems were also to be had. Through the door was the outside again, on the level below the portal. I had barely stepped out when an arrow when whizzing past my face. There were several draugr homing in on me, and one coming from the wide steps—a Dragon Priest, judging by the mask.

I had some more fun with avoidance and summons and eventually they were all killed off, though I actively targeted the Dragon Priest. I looted his mask and the staff he had and skipped up the steps, warily eyeing the two dragons up there perched on pillars to either side. Oddly enough they were making no moves to attack me. Odahviing had said that many had begun to question Alduin’s lordship, so that could be it. Or perhaps they were wiser than the other two, and after seeing how easily I could defeat them preferred life over being absorbed?

The portal had closed during the fighting, but there was a small circular design in front of it, with a hole at the center. I eyed the staff and shrugged, then inserted it into the hole. It was reminiscent of the portal to the Soul Cairn opening, but this one was much larger and seemed far more powerful.

Would it really be so different than visiting the Soul Cairn, which was just another afterlife? With a fatalistic shrug, I entered it.

###### Sovngarde  
Morning Star, 30th, 4E 202

My first thought on arriving was that Sovngarde wasn’t all that different from Nirn, except for the sky. Looking up made me feel like the whole place was one big circle, probably because the clouds in the sky seemed to wrap around an invisible column, leading up to a brilliance of light that was otherworldly. The colours, too, were intriguing, like sunrise and sunset and night all at the same time, except being oddly shifted in tone, and a multitude of stars shone through.

But ahead? A huge difference. There was a series of steps leading down into what I suspected would normally be a lovely vale, but the entire area was covered in a dense mist that seemed to suck the life out of everything. And I could see Alduin every so often, or hear him, taunting the unfortunate souls wandering around down there. Before I went down I eyed the massive statues to either side of the path every so often. They were generic, cloaked figures which sort of reminded me of Greybeards, but there was so little detail I wasn’t sure what they were supposed to be. Far ahead I saw a magnificent building, but its size was unknowable because I could not determine the distance.

I ran into a soul after I got down the series of steps; he was a Stormcloak. “Turn back, traveler! Terror waits within this mist!”

I tilted my head and asked rather bluntly, “Who are you?”

“Near Giants’ Gap, in the gloom before dawn, we marched, unsuspecting into the Imperials’ trap. There we stood and fought, our shield-wall defending until by dawn’s light the Legion’s ranks wavered. But I never knew if nights-end brought victory—a swift-flying arrow to Sovngarde carried me.”

His way of speaking was . . . odd, as if he’d been caught up in some bard’s epic poetry. “And this mist?”

“I do not know—but none have passed through. Alduin, his hunger insatiable, hunts the lost souls snared within this shadowed valley. Can you lead the way to where Shor’s Hall waits, beckoning us on to welcome long sought?”

Eh, the man was dead. I wasn’t going to quibble over his affiliation at that point, and I assumed the building I had seen from my arrival point was Shor’s Hall. I glanced back to notice that there was no portal back, which was unsettling in the extreme. “Yes, it’s at the far end of the valley from here.”

“I saw if fair when first I trod this long sought path. The pain and fear vanished, dreamlike, and a vision beckoned to—Shor’s Hall, shimmering across the clouded vale. But quenched was hope by the shrouding mist; darkened is my mind. I’ve lost the way and wander blindly. Hurry! Before Alduin your soul devours bring word to Shor’s Hall of our hard fate!” He then ran off into the mist.

I would call him a fool, but who knew how long he’d been there, and he didn’t look any more ghostly than I did, unlike the poor bastards in the Soul Cairn. He had no reason to believe I was not just another of the honored dead, except for my way of speech. Alduin swooped through and snatched up another soul—quite possibly the very man I’d been speaking with. So the mist made souls lose their way, and possibly used a kind of illusion against their minds to prevent them from ever reaching Shor’s Hall. Good to know. “ _Lok Vah Koor_!”

The mist cleared away just like the storm at the Throat of the World, so I followed the now properly visible path, continuing to Shout so I would not become disoriented. About halfway along was some sort of gathering area, or scenic spot, with a short flight of steps leading up to a roughly circular plateau, but there was no point in staying there to enjoy a view that wasn’t visible, so I kept on, muttering under my breath as more lost souls appeared and went in the mist and Alduin ate yet more of them.

Shor’s Hall came into view finally and I sighed. Spanning a gorge was a bridge leading to it, though the bridge itself was the spine and ribs of some monstrous creature well beyond the size of any dragon. For all I knew it was meant to represent Shor’s back. Before it stood the tallest man I had ever seen, almost twice the height of a normal Nord.

“What brings you, wayfarer grim, to wander here, in Sovngarde, souls-end, Shor’s gift to honored dead?”

A guard? In a place where only certain dead came in the first place? All right. “Who are you?”

“I am Tsun, shield-thane to Shor. The Whalebone Bridge he bade me guard and winnow all those souls whose heroic end sent them here, to Shor’s lofty hall where welcome, well earned, awaits those I judge fit to join that fellowship of honor.”

‘So not all of them get in? They just exist in some idyllic vale for eternity?’ My brow furrowed. “I pursue Alduin, the World-Eater.”

“A fateful errand,” Tsun replied. “No few have chafed to face the Worm since first he set his soul-snare here at Sovngarde’s threshold. But Shor restrained our wrathful onslaught—perhaps, deep counseled, your doom he foresaw.”

‘And perhaps he saw the futility of sillesejoor fighting an unwinnable battle and ending up as dragon food,’ I thought. “I seek entrance to Shor’s Hall.”

“No shade are you, as usually here passes, but living, you dare the land of the dead. By what right do you request entry?”

Now that was an interesting question. There was the obvious, which I wasn’t even sure applied, and the earned. “By right of cleverness and birth. I am Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold and Dovahkiin.”

“It’s been too long since last I faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood. Well met, mage of Skyrim. The Nords may have forgotten their forefathers’ respect for the Clever Craft, but your comrades throng this hall. Here in Shor’s house we honor it still.”

Right. But still no entrance. I nodded and repeated, “I seek entrance to Shor’s Hall.”

“Living or dead, by decree of Shor, none may pass this perilous bridge ’till I judge them worthy by the warrior’s test,” he said and removed the huge axe from his back. Then he came after me.

I immediately brought out a lich and started in with lightning. Fire was fabulous, but it was slower, and while Tsun was a nice big target he was fast on his feet. Trying to keep out of range of his axe, I backed myself into a tree and nearly died of it. 

Once he was satisfied he drew back and returned the axe to its holder on his back. “You fought well. I find you worthy. It is long since one of the living has entered here. May Shor’s favor follow you and your errand.” He stepped to the side and gestured at the bridge.

I had never been all that scared of heights. I was suddenly. The bones—from a whale, whatever that was—were huge and spaced far enough apart off the spine (which had its own bones rising up and therefore could not be walked on) that every step was an invitation to slip and fall down into that endless crash and turbulence of water far, far below.

I headed across, lightly leaping at times, cursing my lack of height for once, and made it to the other side without losing my wits. I exhaled in relief and practically sprinted to the hall and in through one of the massive doors.

I was greeted by a bearded blond man in ancient armor. “Welcome, Dragonborn! Our door has stood empty since Alduin first set his soul-snare here. By Shor’s command we sheathed our blades and ventured not the vale’s dark mist. But three await your word to loose their fury upon the perilous foe. Gormlaith the fearless, glad-hearted in battle; Hakon the valiant, heavy-handed warrior; Felldir the Old, far-seeing and grim.”

He sort of looked like a Nord, but at the same time not. He was also taller than the average Nord male. What made me certain was seeing Wuuthrad on his back. I nodded and looked around. I could see the three he spoke of, the same ones from my vision of the past, but I wanted to look around first. It wasn’t every day you got to visit an afterlife.

There were massive barrels of mead, smaller kegs, tables laden with food and gold plates, platters, and cutlery. Heroes were everywhere, some sparring, some feasting—the only thing I wasn’t seeing was the last aspect of the oft-enjoyed trine of a warrior’s life. I wandered around a bit first and ran into Kodlak. His style of speech was just as bizarre, as though he was speaking to the annals of history. I also saw someone wearing what looked like the robes I inherited as Arch-Mage of the College.

I saw a man in Greybeards robes and wandered over to speak to him. “My disciples still follow the difficult path—the Way of the Voice is neither wide, nor easy. But if you stray from wisdom then to Sovngarde you will not return,” he told me. “Fate drives you, but you follow your own path. Choose wisely, lest you wander into evil.”

I nodded and wandered on. It was no real surprise that Jurgen Windcaller would say such things to me. And then I ran into a finely-dressed young man who said, “When Ulfric Stormcloak, with savage Shout, sent me here, my sole regret was fair Elisif, left forlorn and weeping. I faced him fearlessly—my fate inescapable, yet my honor is unstained—can Ulfric say the same?”

High King Torygg, then. It came to me that I had a unique opportunity in this place, and should I survive the upcoming battle. . . . To that end I did a little browsing. A sweet roll went into my pouch, carefully wrapped, for my collection, though I would have to give it a place of honor. True, it would eventually rot like anything else, but it was a comforting thing to do.

For Farkas and the Companions I almost helped myself to parts of a roasted ox, but at the last moment decided against it. I had no idea what the food would do to anyone not actually in Sovngarde. Nor would I try for anything for Brynjolf, but I could surely describe the place for him. A golden goblet would be a nice souvenir for him, but I rather thought it would be impolite to take one. I steeled myself to have to go back over that bridge and approached the trio.

“At long last!” cried Gormlaith. “Alduin’s doom is now ours to seal—just speak the word and with high hearts we’ll hasten forth to smite the worm wherever he lurks.”

“Hold, comrades—let us counsel take before battle is blindly joined,” Felldir advised. “Alduin’s mist is more than a snare—its shadowy gloom is his shield and cloak. But with four Voices joined, our valor combined, we can blast the mist and bring him to battle.”

“Felldir speaks wisdom—the World-Eater, coward, fears you, Dragonborn. We must drive away his mist, Shouting together, and then unsheathe our blades in desperate battle with our black-winged foe.”

“To battle, my friends! The fields will echo with the clamor of war, our wills undaunted,” Gormlaith said, then rushed off to the doors, her two comrades in tow.

###### Dragonslayer  
(?Unknown?)

That bridge. The three heroes raced across it like it was flat ground, but I took a little longer making the journey. As I went past Tsun he said, “The eyes of Shor are upon you this day. Defeat Alduin, and destroy his soul-snare.”

‘Yeah, working on that,’ I thought, finally catching up with the trio.

“We cannot fight the foe in this mist!” Felldir said.

‘Oh gods. Did we not already go over this?’

“Clear Skies—combine our Shouts!” Gormlaith replied.

“ _Lok Vah Koor_!!!” we Shouted, the Words rolling out like thunder. The mist cleared away from a much wider area than simply that of a single Shout’s worth, but then Alduin could be heard.

“ _Ven Mul Riik_!”

Gormlaith cried, “Again!”

We did, and Alduin brought the mist back, though we had cleared a wider area than before.

“Does his strength have no end?” Hakon asked. “Is our struggle in vain?”

‘Are you seriously feeling despair so soon?’ I thought, eyeing him incredulously.

“Stand fast!” Gormlaith yelled. “His strength is failing! Once more, and his might will be broken!”

‘Glad-hearted in battle, indeed, and quite optimistic, too.’ 

“One more time,” Felldir added, “and the World-Eater must face us!”

We Shouted a third time, “ _Lok Vah Koor_!!!” That time so much mist was cleared it was amazing. Alduin came into view, probably having realized we would keep on and prevent him from eating any other souls unless he dealt with us first.

“Stand together and we shall defeat him!” Felldir cried.

“No escape this time, foul worm!” Gormlaith unsheathed her sword and held it high.

“Stand fast! The fell worm’s death is ours at last, the light returns!”

I more or less ignored what the three were saying after that, because it’d just be more of the usual Nord battle cries. Two of us aimed Dragonrend at Alduin and forced him down, but not before he managed to call that fire storm of his again, the one he’d used at Helgen. It made the things perilous indeed, with raining fire, smoke, and shaking of the ground. But in Sovngarde Alduin was at a disadvantage, and there were four of us, all well able to Shout.

“You are persistent, Dovahkiin,” Alduin said at one point. “Pruzeh ol aar. A fine slave you would have made.”

I scoffed and made a split-second decision to unlock the meaning behind one of the Words I had learned and Shouted, “ _Krii_!” before continuing to keep a summon active and arcing lightning at him.

“Zu’u unslaad!” Alduin yelled in disbelief as he went down and began to decay. “Zu’u nis oblaan!”

He writhed around in what looked like agony and the skies stopped raining fire. His flesh decayed off him like that of any other dragon, but it revealed an inky black skeleton underneath. Even that did not remain. All of him, his soul included, spiraled up into the sky. Was his soul so mighty and unique that a Dragonborn could not withstand it? Or did Akatosh have other plans for Alduin?

Tsun walked over—in half the time it would have taken a normal person—and said, “This was a mighty deed! The doom of Alduin encompassed at last, and cleansed is Sovngarde of his evil snare. They will sing of this battle in Shor’s Hall forever.” He looked at me directly then. “But your fate lies elsewhere. When you have completed your count of days, I may welcome you again, with glad friendship and bid you join the blessed feasting.”

‘A Breton? In Sovngarde? I suppose by helping to save it I have perhaps earned a place here?’

“All hail the Dragonborn!” Gormlaith cried. “Hail her with great praise!”

Hakon approached me. “I’ll look for you, friend, when at last you return to Shor’s Hall. The honor will be ours when you rejoin the ranks of Sovngarde.”

Felldir added, “Our ancient debt for Alduin’s reprieve is now repaid—the long night is ended!”

And he was correct on that last bit. The sky had cleared entirely and was what I had seen from my arrival point, except over the entire vale. It was a beautiful, ethereal day. Souls which had been lost in the mist were approaching with pleasure and excitement.

“Even here,” Gormlaith said, “where heroes throng, few can match this mighty deed. What glory! The gods themselves must envy us this well-earned honor!”

I couldn’t think of what to say to that so I nodded and turned to Tsun. “When you are ready to rejoin the living, just bid me so, and I will send you back.”

If I stayed there much longer I would start speaking like a damn bard, so I said, “I am ready to return to Tamriel.”

“A gift,” he said. “Return now to Nirn, with this rich boon from Shor, my lord: a Shout to bring a hero from Sovngarde in your hour of need.”

I felt the Words come to me: Hun Kaal Zoor—Hero Champion Legend.

“ _Nahl Daal Vus_!” Tsun Shouted, and it all went white.

The white dimmed and dulled to shades of grey, lighter and darker, and it resolved to the Throat of the World, suffering through yet another raging snowstorm. Then I saw there were at least five dragons present, perched on various outcroppings of rock. I moved to the word wall and rested against it; Paarthurnax was perched atop it.

“Alduin mahlaan,” one intoned, almost ceremonially.

“Sahrot thur qahnaraan,” another said.

“Alduin mahlaan.”

‘Alduin has fallen,’ I thought. ‘The overlord is vanquished.’

“Dovahkiin los ak dovahkriid.”

“Alduin mahlaan.”

‘The Dragonborn is his dragonslayer.’

“Thu’umii los nahlot.”

“Alduin mahlaan.”

“Mu los vamir.”

‘His Shout is silenced. We follow him no longer.’

Then they took wing and began flying circles around the peak, Shouting out the news.

Paarthurnax angled his head down to look at me. “So, it is done. Alduin dilon. The Eldest is no more, he who came before all others, and has always been.”

“Yes. I did what I was prophesied to do.”

“Zeymahi lost ont du’ul Bormahu. You did what was necessary. Alduin had flown far from the path of right action in his pahlok—the arrogance of his power. Alduin wahlaan daanii. His doom was written when he claimed for himself the lordship that properly belongs to Bormahu Akatosh. But I cannot celebrate his fall. Zu’u tiiraaz ahst ok mah. He was my brother once. This world will never be the same. Rok funta koraav. Indeed, you saw more clearly than Alduin. Perhaps you have some insight into the forces that shape the vennesetiid. Perhaps you begin to see the world as a dovah.”

‘I don’t know about that,’ I thought, but wasn’t willing to quibble with him over it.

“But I forget myself. Krosis. So los mid ahdon. You have won a mighty victory. Sahrot krongrah—one that will echo through all the ages of this world for those who have eyes to see. Savor your triumph, Dovahkiin. This is not the last of what you will write upon the currents of Time. Goraan!” he cried, launching himself skyward.

“I feel younger than I have in many an age,” he called down to me. “Many of the dovahhe are now scattered across Keizaal. Without Alduin’s lordship, they may yet bow to the vahzen of my Thu’um. But willing or no, they will hear it! Fare thee well, Dovahkiin!”

I could only pray that he meant that as it sounded. That he would spread his Way, but force none of them. I was about to head down to High Hrothgar when a familiar dragon landed nearby; it was Odahviing.

“Pruzah wundunne wah wuth gein. I wish the old one luck in his . . . quest. But I doubt many will wish to exchange Alduin’s lordship for the tyranny of Paarthurnax’s ‘Way of the Voice’. As for myself, you’ve proven your mastery twice over. Thuri, Dovahkiin. I gladly acknowledge the power of your Thu’um. Zu’u Odahviing. Call me when you have need, and I will come if I can.”

“Kogaan, Odahviing. Lok, Thu’um.”

He launched himself skyward and flew away, so I headed down the mountain. Arngeir was there to greet me. “I can see it in your eyes—you’ve seen the land of the gods and returned. Does this mean . . . it is done? Is Alduin truly defeated?”

“Defeated, without form, but I don’t know if Alduin can ever be completely destroyed.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” he replied thoughtfully. “Dragons are not like mortal creatures, and Alduin is unique even among dragonkind. He may be permitted to return at the end of time to fulfill his destiny as the World-Eater. But that is for the gods to decide. You have done your part. You’ve shown yourself mighty, both in Voice and deed. In order to defeat Alduin, you’ve gained mastery of dreadful weapons. Now it is up to you to decide what to do with your power and skill.”

‘As if that wasn’t generally the case anyway.’

“Will you be a hero whose name is remembered in song throughout the ages? Or will your name be a curse to future generations? Or will your memory fade from history, unremembered? Let the Way of the Voice be your guide, and the path of wisdom will be clear to you. Breath and focus, Dragonborn. Your future lies before you.”

‘Blech,’ I thought. I nodded and wandered off to the sleeping area. If I had my way there would never be a name aside from Dragonborn, and no other possible heroic feats aside from possibly ending the war. Besides, I didn’t do it for any glory. I did it for survival, for myself, my friends. . . .


	26. 7.1 Interlude

25042015-26042015

## 7.1

###### Sun’s Dawn, 1st, 4E 202

I found out after waking up that time had moved differently for me in Sovngarde. More time had passed than I had been aware of—an extra day. My first thought was to head to Riften and let Brynjolf know I was all right.

I got to Riften fairly late and made sure to swing through the city before leaving again and going invisibly to my house. One of Brynjolf’s informants would probably let them all know the Dragonborn had been sighted so he would know where I went. Presumably.

He showed up a few hours later and joined me in the mushroom. I was still wearing my disguise, but the mask, helm, and gauntlets had been set aside. “So, lass, you’re back.”

“You’re so observant!” I teased. “Yes, I am. I have seen Sovngarde and lived to tell the tale.”

Brynjolf took his seat and grabbed a bottle of mead I’d set out for him. “Bring me anything?”

I grinned. “I wanted to, but I didn’t think Shor would approve of me running off with his solid gold tableware. I thought about bringing some food from there instead, but, really, I wasn’t sure how that might affect someone still living. The only thing I allowed myself was a single sweet roll, and that will be put on display until it gets all mucky.”

“You never know. It might be special enough to endure,” he pointed out.

“I suppose so. I guess I’ll have to wait and see. Anyway, Alduin won’t be bothering us again. Master Arngeir thinks he might be brought back when it really is time for the end of the world, but I doubt any of us will be alive to see it happen. It’s possible that Akatosh arranged for a ‘Last Dragonborn’ to give his eldest dragon son the equivalent of a spanking, and now Alduin is off doing menial work to repent for his arrogance?”

Brynjolf snickered at that. “Never lose that irreverence, lass.”

###### Sun’s Dawn, 3rd, 4E 202

I went to the College as myself, using a cave near Winterhold to swap identities after I’d cleared it out. Places like that always seemed to attract more animals or bandits over time. I left it under cover of invisibility and didn’t reveal myself until I got to the gates.

I couldn’t tell anyone there the details because they had no idea who else I was. And while the Thalmor had not tried to foist off another “adviser” on us to spy—they were probably too embarrassed and too sensible to think they could get away with another one after the destruction Ancano caused, and almost caused—it could still come to pass that anyone spending time down in town might spill secrets after too much mead, ale, or wine.

I settled in for the usual paperwork, approving decisions made by the staff, and so on, as well as spending time in the Arcanaeum. I noticed that damn chest again and thought about opening it, but it always worked out that I went in there when Urag was present, and usually something distracted me before I could remember to come back after hours.

I wanted to try to find more information about the odd blue shard of material I had found in that Dwemer ruin—Mzulft I think it was called. I asked Urag and he pointed me to a copy of _The Aetherium Wars_ , by Taron Dreth. One section read:

> Modern scholars know Aetherium as a rare, luminescent blue crystal found in some Dwemer ruins. Most consider it little more than a curiosity, as it has proven all but impossible to work with: while it has a strong magical aura, it is alchemically inert, and no known process can enchant, smelt, mold, bind, or break it.

So, Aetherium? The piece I had found looked as though it was part of a larger piece, so perhaps there were more out there? He only mentioned two other things of interest. Arkngthamz, a “research center” in the southern Reach, and an Aetherium Forge that was presumed to be somewhere in Skyrim.

I returned the book and asked Urag about Dwemer ruins, which resulted in a bunch more books to go through. ‘Ugh, they’re all over the place,’ I thought. I’d been to Alftand and would go to Arkngthamz. I had already poked around in every building I could find at Blackreach, Irkngthand, Mzulft, and Mzark. And preferably, I would leave Markarth for last, because I hated constantly getting attacked by the Forsworn.

I continued to mark ruins on my map and finally decided on an order to check them in. Sightless Pit would be first, then I’d return east and take the road toward Windhelm. From there I could check Raldbthar. Then into The Rift to Kagrenzel, a stop in at Riften, then swing west to check out the Ruins of Rkund, Avanchnzel, and the Ruins of Bthalft.

From there I could pass through Whiterun and up north and west, to check out Bthardamz. Nchuand-Zel was in Markarth itself, apparently. Some Altmer researcher named Calcelmo was investigating the place. Reachwind Eyrie wasn’t too far from Karthspire. And of course, Arkngthamz, south of Reachwind Eyrie.

I exhaled heavily and put all the books away—Urag would become hostile if I didn’t—and went to tell Tolfdir about my planned expedition, though I may have neglected to mention precisely what I was looking for.

###### Sun’s Dawn, 4th, 4E 202

Sightless Pit was a waste of my time so I continued on to Raldbthar. I honestly wasn’t interested in getting into fights just then so I invisibly sneaked past all the bandits inside the first part of the ruin (though I did pause long enough to loot chests and other valuables) and only stayed visible once I was dealing only with automatons. And, as I was probably going to run into more dragons on my expeditionary journey, I swapped back to my disguise before continuing on.

Bizarrely enough there had been a copy of _The Aetherium Wars_ in one of the bandits’ sleeping areas that I tucked away. I eventually came to a very large rectangular room with a number of Falmer huts, chaurus, and a raised drawbridge. After they were dealt with I investigated more closely. Some of the gear mechanisms were blocked by bones, preventing a Dwemer-style button pedestal from functioning, so I got them all cleared and tried again, which dropped the bridge and revealed a Centurion.

I had purchased a new tome while at the College, so I was summoning a Dremora Lord of late, though I rather thought he talked way too much. But, well, it was probably a great thing for him to be on Nirn even temporarily, so I did my best to ignore all the chatter. Beyond the Centurion’s cradle was a door leading to a couple of rooms, one of which held another Aetherium Shard. There was also a device for opening the way to Blackreach, but I saw no reason to open it, instead opting to take the lift up to the surface.

###### Sun’s Dawn, 5th, 4E 202

Kagrenzel was bizarre. A tiny little place on the surface, but deep inside. It dead-ended in a fairly large room with a circular panel in the center of the floor with pillars around it. There were a bunch of pots scattered over the panel and several dead bodies, and at its center was an odd little thing, rather like the magicka wells at the College, except much smaller and the light orb above was yellow instead of blue.

I kicked the pots out of the way and dragged the bodies off, then returned to that yellow orb. It was crazy, I was certain, but I wanted to know what it was, and what it was doing in a Dwemer ruin. So despite there being dead bandit sorts around, I reached out and touched it. A cage shot up from the groove around the panel and the orb flew off to shriek and circle the cage over and over and over.

And then the floor dropped out and I fell.

I looked down to see an endless-seeming pit with a faint suggestion of water at the bottom. Well, I had done the whole destiny bit, so if I died. . . . I could always unlock Feim if necessary, I supposed.

I landed in a deep well of water and quickly enough rose to the surface. After that it was boring. I eventually came to a waterfall formed by the stream from the well which exited into a cave. Someone in there was mining, so I went invisible and sneaked through the place until I got back outside.

A look back at the mountain behind me to orient on the dragons—I suspected that was Skuldafn back there—told me I had emerged a bit to the north, so I could turn left to head south toward Riften. As it was, I decided to simply follow the edge of the mountain on my way south and eventually stumbled over an odd little place. There was an encampment outside and one of the tents had a journal.

> #### Day 14
> 
> I knew I should have volunteered for the excavation earlier. For months, Moric had been going on to the Vigilants about detecting mystical energies deep in the east mountains. Said he’d found some old tomes about the ruins of “Ruunvald,” or something the like, a Nordic chamber thousands of years old. I remember thinking “Yeah, if it’s so old, how come no one’s found it yet? There’s plenty of adventurers wandering around these parts.”
> 
> Seemed like most of the other Vigilants agreed, we had more important things to do. But Moric took a team and went digging, and when he started turning up a long buried temple, well, didn’t I feel like a troll in a dung heap.
> 
> Soon enough, he was sending back letters to the Hall, begging for as many men as we could send. I didn’t volunteer at first, still seemed like a myth to me. But when word came back that they’d hit the main chamber, I packed up and headed this way to help. Always did want to be a part of history, and better late than never, they say.
> 
> Well, “they” didn’t mention that the late comers would be stuck with guard duty. I just sit up here all day, watching for bandits and wolves, neither of which I’ve seen. Mostly I just see diggers coming up for supplies. Gotta say, I been seeing them a lot less regular, now that I think about it...
> 
> #### Day 19
> 
> All right, it’s been 3 days since anyone’s come up. The last one to emerge was Apa, and he just walked around a bit with a weird vacant look in his eyes. Told Florentius and me to come down as soon as we had the chance, then trudged back in.
> 
> Something ain’t right, and I aim to find out what...
> 
> #### – Volk

Right. Mystery ahead! I grabbed a key that was also in the tent and went inside. There were a whole lot of Vigilants in there, mining, digging, and attacking me the second I was spotted. I found books along the way, _Discovering Ruunvald_ , volumes I-IV, but it was the third one which started mentioning a “Minorne” which seemed to be taking over the author’s every thought.

I entered into a new section of the ruins, a temple, perhaps, and found a book titled _Minorne_ by the same author, and it was more or less evident that the poor bastard had been completely thralled. In fact, the only person left in the entire place who hadn’t been was some fellow in a cage praying to Arkay. Or speaking to him. I wasn’t quite sure on that point.

I took care of Minorne, who turned out to be just another Altmer mage gone mad, and picked the lock on the cage to release the prisoner.

“I knew you had it in you!” he said to me. “Arkay wasn’t so sure. Between you and me, I think he didn’t expect you to make it. But not me! I knew it all along!”

I nodded. I mean, I’d seen evidence enough that the gods were real, so this fellow. . . . Sure. He asked how he could repay me and I confess I blinked in confusion. “Ah, no need,” I said. “I just wandered in here on a whim. You go do whatever it is you do.” Then I turned away and went through a door at the back of the room to find the mage’s quarters. I looted it, giving the copy of _The Aetherium Wars_ I saw a deeply suspicious look, then took the next door to eventually end up back outside.

###### Sun’s Dawn, 6th, 4E 202

Riften. Such a wretched hive of scum and villainy. I wondered if there were towns like this one in other provinces. And if they were located in such lovely territory. I spent some time in town, listening to guards praise me to the skies for having “won” them The Rift, and one who told me I was crazy to have trapped and released a dragon. I took him aside and explained why as succinctly as possible and assumed he would spread the word.

I also ran into an Argonian who was moaning about her job at the fishery. Turned out she had a little skooma addiction problem. She asked me for a healing potion to help her in exchange for a promise to never use skooma again, so I gave her one. It’s not like I used the things myself. At the time I thought little of the incident and went on my way. I had never actually investigated the door near Balimund's smithy so I went through that and found myself on the docks.

There, another Argonian caught my attention. She was mumbling crazily to herself and when I got too close she turned to me and said, “You. You must take the Lexicon. Free me of my burden.”

“Eh?” ‘Lexicon? Like that thing Septimus gave me to inscribe an Elder Scroll on?’

“The memories. I cannot stand them. You must take them away, return them to Avanchnzel. You must take the Lexicon from me. Please . . . take it now.”

Well, I had planned to go there anyway, so why not? I nodded and she handed me a familiar-looking item.

“You must bring it to Avanchnzel, in the west. Return it to them. It must go back.”

Right. I decided that the docks were much too exciting and returned to the city. When I saw Brynjolf nosing around I bought some mushrooms from Brand-Shei in the marketplace and left town by the main gates.

###### Sun’s Dawn, 7th, 4E 202

On my way to the Ruins of Rkund I passed a tower and decided to go inside, just in time to see a woman kill another. The woman, Illia, turned to me seconds later and immediately started trying to explain. Her mother, Silvia, was going to conduct a ritual to become a hagraven and had tasked her daughter with finding a human sacrifice—an innocent one—for use in the ritual. Then she asked me for help in stopping her mother. It felt a bit like the situation with Erandur, but with less Daedric involvement, or even Paarthurnax in some ways. In any case, I wasn’t going to judge, so I agreed to help; and soon enough Silvia was dead.

After that I continued on the Rkund, but there was nothing much to the place, just a wispmother and some dead hags. I returned to the road and continued west to get to Avanchnzel and was treated, inside, to more spirits, this time of a red hue instead of the blue from Labyrinthian. Thieves of a sort, after the knowledge of the Dwemer, and all of them died but one: From-Deepest-Fathoms. I returned the lexicon to its pedestal and departed, having not found any Aetherium Shards within.

The ruins of Bthalft was a bandit camp. There was something very interesting there (aside from plenty of blood for potions), but nothing I could use at the time. I would keep the place in mind, though. It was very late by that point, but I was close to Ivarstead, where I ended up spending the night.

###### Sun’s Dawn, 8th, 4E 202

On my way north I made it a point to find Farkas in Whiterun (though I admit I did sneak into Elysium long enough to drop some things off first) after a quick visit to Jarl Balgruuf and give him a very brief assurance that Kodlak was safe in the Hall of Valor in Sovngarde. He rushed off to tell his fellow Companions and I left the city to head north.

###### Sun’s Dawn, 9th, 4E 202

On my way to Bthardamz I ran into a couple of children, which I found strange given that Karthwasten was a fair distance and Markarth even more so. “Hey there,” one of them said. “Check out what my friend and I found. I can sell some of it if you want!”

Out of curiosity I asked to see what he had and was shown a variety of Dwemer items. I wasn’t interested in any of it, but I was interested in where he’d obtained them. It seemed unlikely it had been Bthardamz, but maybe the child and his friend had so little sense as to be actively suicidal?

“I can mark the location down for you on your map if you want,” he said, “for a small fee.”

I rolled my eyes. Precocious little beasts. I handed each of them five septims and showed the chatty one my map. He made a quick mark on it and I checked to see it was north of Bthardamz and a little bit west. “Extortionists,” I muttered, and went on.

Bthardamz turned out to be where all those Afflicted had been coming from, so I did an about-face and went to the place the child had marked instead. If I couldn’t find all the pieces I would have to return, but for now I was leaving the place alone. The unknown place was very close to the border with High Rock and might well have been a crossing point some time in the past. As it was, I found another shard there, which brought me up to three.

I didn’t much care for the idea of entering Markarth just yet, so I would go to Reachwind Eyrie and Arkngthamz first, and only enter Markarth if I had to. I startled some Legionnaires by sprinting through their camp on the way south, disdaining the road in favor of a more timely route.

The Eyrie turned out to be a small tower that was almost directly in line with Sky Haven Temple. Maybe at some point I would go there again, but not now, and not for some time. But there was very little in the place to speak of so I continued on to Arkngthamz, giving wide berth to an Orsimer settlement along the way.

As I drew closer the ground started shaking every so often and I kept looking around to see if a dragon had landed. The ruin itself looked like any other Dwemer ruin. I went inside and staggered a little when another quake hit.

“Please, turn back . . . before it’s too late,” sounded a female voice.

I looked around and saw no one. A spirit? I had never been all that scared of them, even when they were trying to kill me. Now, should the ceiling fall in and prevent me from going deeper? Different story. I kept going and the tilted hallway opened up into a huge area bisected by a gorge, partly ruins and partly a cave. As I looked around another quake hit and one of the huge pillars crumbled and fell down into the gorge.

“Are you here for the treasure?” that same voice asked.

I turned toward where it originated from and saw a ghost of what looked to be a Nord female. It’s always harder to tell when they’re in spirit form.

“And you are?”

“The name’s Katria. I am—was—an adventurer. Raided ruins like this for nigh on twenty years. I was on the trail of something big. It led me here, and . . . I didn’t make it.”

Another quake hit, with chunks of stone falling down into the gorge.

“That name sounds familiar,” I said thoughtfully.

“Yes. If you’ve read _The Aetherium Wars_. That was my theory, you know. My research. My life’s work. All of it, lost! Stolen by my own damn apprentice! That’s how I ended up here. I can’t rest. Not until I find the Forge, until I can prove that it was my discovery. Mine, not his!”

Right. I had a very pissed off spirit on my hands.

“I died here. You should turn back, unless you want to end up like me.”

“I’ve been through a lot,” I said simply.

She sighed. “I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to convince you. Well, I can come along if you like, give you a hand. I made it pretty far before I died.”

I saw no reason to say no, so I nodded. She pointed off to the side and said, “Down that fallen pillar and then up to that opening over there.”

At the base of the pillar was a small bit of land in a narrow column of rock and soil. It had probably been larger at one point, right after the ground had split? Or maybe there had always been such a sharp separation between sides of the cavern. Either way, the river down below had likely whittled away at it over time.

Katria’s body was there, sprawled face up.

“You should take my journal. It has a lot of information in it,” she suggested.

It was the only thing I took. It held her notes, sketches, possible puzzle solutions. . . . On the way up the other side, up another pillar, I saw a few things under the metal grating being used as the floor of the corridor and was forced to use Telekinesis to get them. We were attacked in the hall by automatons and at the end was a large room almost entirely submerged in water. But, there was a wide pipe I could walk on to get higher and get around to another hallway.

And then we were back in a cavern setting, with Falmer. Every so often another quake would hit, occasionally staggering one of the Falmer right over the edge of a narrow land bridge, and it always amused me to see it happen. Katria was a decent companion and she preferred using a bow, which meant she was unlikely to get in the way of my magic.

The route we were taking just kept circling around, passing over the gorge, and I would occasionally catch glimpses of her corpse. We eventually came to a less Falmer-infested area and Katria gasped and surged forward. “My bow! See? It’s there, at the end of that tree.”

Yes, the fallen tree that had most of it out over the open expanse of air. Still, it was obviously important to her, even if she could only use her ghostly version of it, so I waited until after a quake had happened to lightly scamper out to the end and retrieve it, then get back to solid ground.

“I call it Zephyr. Please, take good care of it.”

“I will,” I assured her. Good care meant being on display, but at least there it would not be damaged, dropped into a river, used by Falmer. . . .

“It’s not much farther,” she said, pointing up an earthen ramp.

And it wasn’t. We came out into an almost glade-like area fronting a ruin built into the cavern wall, with squared-off arches lining the path that switchbacked down. The ground was absolutely littered with arrows, and there were more than a few corpses, one of which was up against a tree with one of the Dwemer bolts through its chest, the ones used in the heavy, stationary ballista.

The building itself had those metal grate doors, one set to either side of the center. Up above was a series of kinetic resonators, as Katria called them. Her journal had mentioned the combinations she had tried—the ones that worked and the ones that failed.

“You know what this is?” she said. “It’s a lock. A ‘Tonal Lock’. Simple, and very, very deadly. See the resonators up there? Strike them in the right order, and the doors should open. Get it wrong, and . . . well. You’ve seen what happened when I tried it.”

“Any advice?”

“Hmm. Well, you can pick up where I left off. My notes should still be in my journal. Beyond that . . . well, maybe one of our predecessors still has a clue.”

Which meant at least one of them had come after her death. I rifled through the bodies and found a scrap of parchment on one of them with a crude representation of the tonal lock. Combined with Katria’s journal it gave me a decent idea of how to go on. I knew the positions of the first three resonators to hit, so I decided to go with symmetry.

Rather than pick up a bunch of arrows from the ground I conjured a bound bow and carefully took aim at the lower left resonator, and released. Then the lower right. Upper left. Upper right. Lower middle. Both sets of doors swung open and Katria hastened off. I released the bow and followed her, ending up in a small room back behind the center. It was odd, actually, that such a large façade had so little behind it.

And there was an Aetherium Shard.

“Let me see it,” Katria said excitedly. “Huh. . . . What? What is this? Look, on the edge here. This has been cut, precisely cut. If you had another piece, about the same size, it would . . . it would snap right in. I saw a drawing of this once. This shard . . . it’s . . . it’s part of a key. A key made of pure Aetherium! The key to the Forge! We have to find the other pieces, of course. There should be, hmm, three more. One for each of the four cities that worked on the Forge. I had a map, in my journal. That’s where we should start.”

“I have the other three pieces already,” I pointed out. “I found one at Mzulft and did some research, then I started systematically checking every Dwemer ruin I hadn’t yet been in.”

Katria looked nonplussed. “We still have to find the Forge itself. I had a lead on that, too.”

I nodded. “If the map in your journal is correct, I think I know where it is. Bthalft. There’s a bandit camp there right now, but I saw a very strange device.”

“Oh?” She had that look on her face again. “For the first time in a long while, I think I—we—may actually be able to do this. And . . . and I owe it all to you. Thank you.”

“You know the place I’m talking about?” When she nodded I said, “I’ll meet you there. I think I want a little extra help just in case. I imagine the Forge will be well guarded.”

“Okay,” she said, and faded out.

###### Sun’s Dawn, 10th, 4E 202

I spent a little time in Riften, considering, and decided that in the morning I would hire Marcurio. He was there, after all, and a mage, which meant he probably wouldn’t get in the way of my spells or Katria’s arrows. I really wondered if anyone ever hired Marcurio, as he always seemed to be there whenever I was in town, but if not, he must have plenty of money from one source or another to be able to afford sitting in a tavern most days.

###### Sun’s Dawn, 11th, 4E 202

Marcurio acted as though it had just been a matter of time. The man had seen me all of, what, once? As the Dragonborn, anyway. He fairly dripped arrogance, and I realized if he died between right then and when I was done wanting the extra help I wouldn’t much care. I paid him his fee and headed to the Ruins of Bthalft.

‘Oh gods, does the man never stop bragging?’ I thought.

We finally arrived, and as I stepped up to the device Katria appeared, which startled Marcurio. I repressed a snigger.

“You made it!” she said. “Look at the device—the gear in the center is just about the right size. Try putting the shards in and . . . we’ll see what happens.”

So I did, carefully setting each one into place. The bit on top that looked somewhat like a Centurion’s core spun around and I could see that the individual Aetherium pieces had melded into one. But aside from that, nothing else happened.

Katria made a thoughtful noise and suggested, “Try taking it back out?”

I saw no reason to disagree and retrieved the . . . crest? The ground began to shake and Katria backed away quickly, urging me to do the same, which I did. Marcurio, however, was not so quick, and was launched into the air when the entire thing suddenly shot up to reveal a Dwemer lift.

I repressed another snigger of amusement when I saw Marcurio over in some bushes, groaning from a combination of pain and embarrassment. He got up and brushed off his robes, healed himself, and strode over as if nothing had happened. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he had bits of vegetation in his hair. Or maybe I just wanted to be able to look at him on occasion, see how mussed he was, and have to repress my amusement a few more times.

“Let’s go!” Katria cried.

The ride itself went on for a very long time, making me wonder just how damn deep the Forge was.

“No one’s been down here for thousands of years,” Katria said. “I’d say the place is about four thousand years old.”

I wondered how she came to that conclusion because obviously I had not done enough research, but I didn’t care _enough_ to bother asking. I would annoy Urag later on, perhaps. The place was creepy in a way. There were no Falmer whatsoever, for one thing, which was just plain bizarre at that point for anything Dwemer.

“Had they placed their faith in magic instead of machinery,” Marcurio said snottily, “the Dwemer might still be around.”

Katria turned to stare at him and said, “You have grass in your hair.”

I chortled as Marcurio immediately reached up to brush his hands through his hair repeatedly.

We came to more of those land bridges, except these were in near complete darkness, though braziers lit themselves when we got close enough to them. In a way they made it even more difficult to see because they mucked up the adjustment of one’s eyes between the too bright light and the remaining inky darkness. Still, when we got to the end of the second land bridge we were in a much more reliably lighted area, and it was a more proper Dwemer structure.

Marcurio kept twitching, probably because of the sphere guardians on display at the base of several sets of stairs leading up to a structure against the cavern wall. “I would find the Dwemer mechanical guardians fascinating if they didn’t try to kill everything on sight,” he commented.

To either side were two smaller buildings, but they were nothing special, I realized, once we got up there. At the center of that level was a dead tree that had somehow escaped decaying away; it was almost like stone itself.

Katria examined the structure in front and said, “Door’s shut tight. I bet those resonators would open it, though.”

Before I dealt with those I poked around a little, finding a fissure in the cavern wall to our right, but that just led to a sheer drop off. There was no indication of which order to hit the resonators in so I just tried left, then right, and the door swung open. Beyond it was a tunnel that felt endless, and more lights that came on as we got near them.

“The air here . . . it feels different,” Katria commented. “Almost like. . . .”

Nothing I would ever know because she never finished the thought. We finally came to a door and went through it. A large room, of sorts, but more like a half-finished building created in yet another cavern, except this one had a lake of lava taking up the back half. Central was some sort of device, presumably the Forge, with a stream of that same lava pouring down from a pipe behind the usual Dwemer head (the same or very similar to the ones on the Centurions) and into a large cylindrical container.

Taking up most of the floor was metal grating allowing the lava to show through, but it was edged with a decent amount of stone, and there were alcoves and steps leading up to elevated platforms. There was also a fair amount of steam jetting up from below, making it difficult to see properly. Marcurio pointed out that there were large red valves on the elevated platforms and suggested we use them to see what happened. I nodded and pointed him right while I went left, and together we turned them, succeeding in shutting off the steam.

Of course, then numerous spiders and sphere guardians dropped out of conveyance tubes, and a prodigious Centurion walked up out of the lava, which necessitated a lengthy fight, during which we were forced to turn off the steam again. It didn’t so much hurt me as Marcurio, which told me he wasn’t wearing the proper enchantments. Very odd for a mage, to my mind.

Once all the automatons were broken Katria rushed up to me and gushed, “I almost can’t believe it. We did it! We actually did it! There’s only one thing left to do. We have to prove this actually works. That this is the real Aetherium Forge.”

I nodded, but before I approached the device, I investigated the room properly and looted the place to the bedrock. Only then did I go to the forge. Unfortunately, though I could more or less see how the thing functioned—because it wasn’t completely dissimilar to a normal forge—I wasn’t sure how to go on.

Katria let out a long, wavering sigh. “There isn’t any Aetherium here, is there? Damn it! Wait! Yes, yes there is. The shards we collected—they’re pure Aetherium, remember? It’s not much, but it should do. With them, the materials in this room, we should have everything we need.”

There was a panel on the left-hand side with three glyphs, a diadem, a shield, and a staff, and each one had smaller glyphs associated with them. I never used staffs, or shields, so I decided to make the diadem. It didn’t matter in the end, really. I followed the recipe and the forge spit back out a simply lovely creation, with a glimmering disc of Aetherium edged in what looked like a cog at the center.

“And with that, it’s done,” Katria said solemnly. “No one could possibly deny what we’ve found now.” As I turned around I could see she was starting to fade away. I wondered if her death counted as good enough to get into Sovngarde. “For me? I’ve done what I set out to do. But you . . . take that out into the world. And if anyone asks, tell them what we discovered. Together. And now . . . I think I can rest. Farewell, my friend, wherever your travels take you.” Just before she vanished completely she went down on one knee in a gesture of respect.

And then Marcurio opened his mouth. “I wonder what keeps these machines working so long after their masters disappeared.”

I sighed softly and turned to leave, tucking the diadem away.

###### Sun’s Dawn, 12th, 4E 202

It was fun to tease Marcurio and get him all riled up; he never seemed to catch on to what I was doing. I knew it would pall rather quickly, but I kept him around for the time being and dragged him around the countryside a bit aimlessly. When we ran into a dragon, though, I eyed him and said, “This is a bit beyond your fee. If you want to return to Riften, that’s fine.”

“Absolutely not,” he said. “I have to try my skill against one!”

So we did. And then we ran into a second dragon. After that one was dealt with he looked a bit put out. “Does this happen often?” he asked.

“They seem to follow me around, actually,” I said, stretching the truth a bit. “The day I hired you was apparently an exception.”

“Oh. That must be difficult if you’re traveling alone.”

“No,” I said with a shake of my head. “Not really.”

He was sweaty and disheveled and I could tell he was seriously considering going back to Riften, so I made the decision for him and headed there myself. At the Bee and Barb I dismissed him, giving him a tip of one dragon scale and one dragon bone, then hastened off before he could say anything.


	27. 7.2 Interlude

26042015-23052015

## 7.2

###### Sun’s Dawn, 19th, 4E 202

I had spent so much time at the College that I simply had to get away. Sitting around in one place for more than a few days made me positively itch with the need to wander. So I was back in Riften. I ran into that Argonian again, the one with the skooma addiction issue, and she looked awfully haggard. It seemed she was keeping to her promise, but it reminded me that someone in the area must be dealing the stuff.

Did I care? Well, an otherwise hard-working person had been dragged down by it. I could be mistaken, but I thought it affected Khajiit differently than any other race, and they were far less susceptible to any negative side effects. With a faint shrug I questioned her about her former supplier. At first she didn’t want to talk, but I reminded her of who had helped her and her hesitance faded.

I headed for Mistveil Keep to speak with the Jarl. It was there I was reminded that Maven Black-Briar was now on that throne. I hadn’t even opened my mouth when Maven said, “I am hereby granting you permission to purchase property in Riften. Talk to my steward if you’re interested.”

After a slight pause I nodded, then said, “There is a skooma dealer in Riften.”

“Ah, yes,” she said. “Sarthis. A thorn in my side for the last few years. I’ve repeatedly tried to eradicate that meddler, but he has ears within the city guard. Gives us the slip every time we try to raid the warehouse. However, if you wish to eliminate that burden for me . . . well, let’s just say it would go a long way with earning my favor.”

‘As if I haven’t inadvertently already?’ I thought. I nodded again.

“Good. Here, take the key to the warehouse. Pay dear old Sarthis a visit and tell him Maven sends her regards, would you?”

I accepted the key and turned to her steward. I didn’t need another house, but Brynjolf might find some use in it. The real value would be in people knowing the Dragonborn had a presence and home in the city. I exchanged coin for a deed and key and went on my way. I had a warehouse to go to, and something told me the inhabitants would attack me on sight. And they did, Sarthis and his “friend”, and they died and helped make more blood potions.

I cleared the place of any moon sugar or skooma, tucking all of it away to store later or dispose of. No sense leaving it there for someone to find and abuse, like that poor Argonian woman—I never had learned her name.

“Results speak volumes over words and you’ve just proved it,” Maven said when I told her Sarthis was no longer a problem. “Did you happen to discover where the fetcher was getting his skooma from?” she asked, and when I nodded continued, “Then I want you to head out there immediately and eliminate all of them. I can’t afford to have another Sarthis blunder into Riften because they think we’re too lazy to disrupt their pitiful operations.”

As I left I thought, ‘Operations you don’t have a hand in and aren’t gaining gold from? Or is it also that it makes people less likely to buy your mead?’

###### Sun’s Dawn, 22nd, 4E 202

Brynjolf had helped me out when it came to finding where Cragslane Cavern was, after I told him about Honeyside and said he could use the place if he ever needed to get away, but not too far away. I assumed he would add a “leave alone” shadowmark to that one, too, possibly the one that denoted danger. After all, thieves going after a home of the Dragonborn? Someone who could single-handedly take down dragons? If they were stupid, perhaps. Or too brave for their own good. Not that it mattered as I didn’t intend to actually leave anything there.

Cragslane Cavern was a gambling and skooma operation. The gambling involved betting on which wolf would win in pit fights, apparently. They attacked—the people, that is—they died, and I cleared out all the moon sugar and skooma. I also killed the wolves, because frankly, they were vicious wild beasts doing everything they could to get over the enclosure fence to attack.

On my way back I was feeling a bit of anger about people trapping wild animals just to get them to fight for their amusement and betting on the outcome. True, that operation had been shut down, though I held no illusions that someone might start it up again. It didn’t help that a wolf pack attacked.

So when I saw something off to my left, to the east, shining in the darkness, I went to investigate. It was surprising the number of bandit groups and the like that had fires or braziers burning outside their hideouts at night to alert both friend and foe.

‘Now that’s different,’ I thought. ‘Mages co-opting draugr to do their menial labor?’ There were draugr mining while being overseen by necromancers and other mages, and it reminded me of that other place, I already for—oh, right, Lydia had been with me so it had to have been Ustengrav—where necromancers had been thralling bandits to mine for them.

When I got to the third room I heard a disembodied female voice. “I am Lu’ah Al-Skaven. Who are you to disrupt my work? Begone, or I will add you to my army of the dead!”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. ‘Sure, lady. Even Potema couldn’t get that done.’ Farther along, before I was forced to kill them, I heard two people talking.

A female said, “I think it’s sweet Lu’ah is so worked up over her dead soldier.”

“Yeah,” replied a male, “but raising draugr to take on both the Imperials and the Stormcloaks? That’s just crazy.”

“True, but I’m not going to be the one to try to oppose her.”

Lu’ah also raised some of the dead against me, saying, “Rise from your graves to defeat this worm!”

I wondered if she had any idea she what she was dealing with, or if worm was just her generic insult. The next room had a spike trap in the ceiling, which I almost didn’t notice in time, but a path leading upward brought me to a room with another of those Nord pillar puzzles. There was a journal and a book on a table beneath the pillars.

The journal belonged to Lu’ah. She spent twenty-five years grieving her husband, who had died during the Great War, and she researched necromancy for a way to bring him back to her. During that time she had run across the story of Fjori and Holgeir—the book, I noticed—and found this place, eventually deciding that Holgeir’s remains would make the perfect vessel for her to bring Saeel back to life into.

She had co-opted the draugr and other dead as laborers to clear the way to the main burial hall. At least she was using them for something other than ore mining! And then the civil war broke out. Lu’ah was angry at Ulfric for his lack of aid to Hammerfell and his sudden stir to activity against the Empire, so she intended, as I had overheard earlier, to strike out against Empire and Stormcloaks both.

The book gave the hints I was after to solve the pillar puzzle and I was shortly on my way, though it begged the question: had the book been left there because Lu’ah expected her living minions to be too stupid to figure it out, or because they were thoroughly enough cowed?

“I shall have vengeance for the death of my husband. Rise!”

‘Oh gods.’ Maybe I was getting a bit too sure of myself, but honestly, draugr? Against me?

Deeper, more draugr hacking away at the walls and overseen by a mage of some sort. More fighting, more people and undead burning, and me moving deeper yet again.

“I could not raise him, but I will raise an army to avenge his defilement!”

Eventually I got to the final room of the place, where Fjori and Holgeir were—their remains, anyway. Up on a dais was an alter with a sarcophagus to either side. Those two, I assumed. When I stepped into the room a woman skulked into view and said, “They burned his body before I could raise him. It should have been returned to me. You will not stop me from killing those who wage this pointless war!”

With that the sarcophagi lids cracked off and draugr-like undead emerged ready to fight, while Lu’ah raised a nearby skeleton, and then started sending ice-based spells at me. I brought in a Dremora Lord to hold some of the attention and started in with fire. Lu’ah had raised the others, so I ignored them and concentrated on her. If she died, they’d drop like puppets with cut strings. The skeleton, of course, could not be re-raised once shattered, which my summon took care of, but when Lu’ah was dead the two “draugr” tumbled to the ground.

From them arose two spirits: Fjori and Holgeir.

“Thank you for releasing us from her spell,” the woman, Fjori, said.

“Now we can rest in peace once again. Come, Fjori, my love.”

The woman held back long enough to place a ghostly blade on the altar. “Take this with our gratitude.”

After they faded away I searched Lu’ah, then picked up the blade. A quick sensing of it told me it would do a little additional damage, ignoring whatever armor an opponent was using. Another weapon for display, essentially. Personally, I found it bizarre that people who’d been dead for who knew how long would actually show up at all in spirit form.

In Lu’ah’s little sanctuary were books, gems, and a spell tome, and it wasn’t until I returned outside that I realized it was morning.

###### Sun’s Dawn, 23rd, 4E 202

“What has you so preoccupied?” I asked.

Wylandriah, the court mage, said, “My experimentation involves a magical construct and a reagent that will allow the construct to maintain a field of permanent harmonic energy!”

‘Sounds like she’d get on fine with Arniel,’ I thought. “Fascinating!” I said, though the sarcasm was lost on her.

“A-ha! So you’re a student of theoretical applied harmonics! Putting aside Ralston’s Constant of Universal Inversion for a moment, how would you approach the problem? Draw the harmonic energy into the reagent or allow it to generate its own field?”

‘Why is this sort of thing not taught at the College?’ I wondered. ‘Or is she crazier than a bag of cats?’

“I’ll tell you why you won’t tell me,” Wylandriah said. “Because you were absolutely right not to. It’s a fundamental rule of magic and it would be ridiculous. You can’t draw harmonic energy without a soul siphon. Since you’re so well informed I’m certain you’ve solved the problem with thermic drift, right?”

I shook my head slightly. I’d only bothered to speak with her because Maven wasn’t in the main room yet.

“What’s not to get? It’s as simple as Traven’s First Axiom of Magic . . . or was it Galerion’s Law of Casting. Hmm.”

‘Traven, as in Arch-Mage Hannibal Traven?’

“I tell you what, let me find out where that’s from. I’ll need to look through my library, and get you an answer.”

I was almost curious enough to make a note of what she said to ask Urag or one of the trainers about. “You appear to need help getting organized,” I observed.

“Yes, I could use some help with that. As assistant perhaps? No, no, no. Maybe a familiar. No, too messy. Well, at any rate, organization is not my strong suit. Not at all. I need as much help as I can get. In fact, if you could retrieve a few things for me, I could start my next set of experiments. As you can imagine, I tend to forget things often. Leave things around. I really must learn to put these things away. What I need is my Dwemer stirring spoon, my orichalcum ingot, and my grand soul gem. In fact, I could use them immediately. Bring those items back to me and I’ll be happy to experiment on you. No, no . . . that isn’t right. I’d be happy to reward you.”

She stuck a hand on her hip and stared at me. “Well, why are you still standing here? Oh, right. You need to know where they are! That _would_ help. Let’s see. Last time I used the Dwemer spoon was at my dear friend Boti’s house in Ivarstead—Fellstar Farm I believe it’s called. The orichalcum ingot should still be at Winterhold at the Frozen Hearth Inn. I don’t know why I didn’t just take it with me. And last is the soul gem. I left that one in Windhelm at the White Phial alchemy shop. It was a good trade too. Ah well.”

Maven and her entourage finally arrived so I let her know the operation at Cragslane Cavern had been seen to.

“I’ll send my men to secure any of the remaining goods you left behind,” Maven said. “We can’t have that substance falling into the wrong hands now, can we? Here, this should suffice as your cut of the . . . or rather, a reward for your actions. Also, I’ve been informed you purchased Honeyside. I expect that you’ll distance yourself from the affairs of state. In other words, keep your nose out of my business and we’ll do just fine. Just remember that you’re only a part of my court, this doesn’t make you one of the family. I guess all that’s left is to bestow the title. What were those words again? Doesn’t matter, the title is yours. I henceforth name you Thane of Riften. Don’t disappoint me.”

Right. Off I went. Brynjolf wasn’t anywhere visible so I headed out and west, eventually stumbling over a campsite outside a cave entrance. There were ruined pillars there, so there was perhaps something of interest inside. There was a journal showing, tucked into the bedroll, so I gave it a look.

> #### The Journal of Medresi Dran
> 
> #### On Angarvunde:
> 
> Whispers of this ancient temple have been few and far between, and most real knowledge seems similar to Angarvunde itself; buried and forgotten. Yet, every story or legend I hear all seem to speak of immeasurable riches found deep within.
> 
> “Great treasure waits for the worthy adventurer,” said one old fool after many false flirtations and tankards of mead. Though he may have been a nuisance, his information matches most of my research, specifically the location of Angarvunde.
> 
> Tomorrow I will hire a mining team to assist me in my excavation and head towards the ruin. By this time next month, I shall be rich!
> 
> #### —M.D.

When I went inside there was a woman there, complaining. When I asked she said, “Of course I’m troubled. I’m on the verge of incredible wealth, but my cowardly work force ran at the first sign of danger.”

She offered to split the treasure with me if I would clear out the draugr. I thought about it briefly, recognizing that to mean I would do all the work and she would reap half of any profit, but I was bored and nodded in agreement. She handed over a key I would need (though where she got it from I had no clue) and I set off to clear the place of the infestation of undead. Better those than Falmer, I supposed.

I eventually had swept through both areas off the main room and returned to Medresi, who looked pleased and said we should then be able to continue on forward. Unfortunately—for her, anyway—she raced forward in anticipation of some fabulous treasure and walked right into a trap. Something she ran over caused a column to rise up just as she stepped on top of that part of the floor and she was smashed against the ceiling.

‘Well, more for me, then,’ I thought. The column was actually a circular stairway, which I used, and found myself in front of word wall: Mir—Allegiance. There was also a large chest begging to be looted. Sadly, there was no shortcut, so I was forced to backtrack the entire way. From there I headed to Ivarstead, for the first of Wylandriah’s items.

###### Sun’s Dawn, 24th, 4E 202

“Alduin’s wings, they did darken the sky. His roar fury’s life, and his scales sharpened scythes,” sang the bard. “Men ran and they cowered, and they fought and they died. They burned and they bled as they issued their cries. We need saviors to free us from Alduin’s rage. Heroes on the field of this new war to wage.”

‘Now just a minute,’ I thought. ‘I already killed him.’

“And if Alduin wins, man is gone from this world. Lost in the shadow of the black wings unfurled. But then came the Tongues on that terrible day. Steadfast as winter, they entered the fray.”

‘Ah, she means way back, not just recently.’

“And all heard the music of Alduin’s doom. The sweet song of Skyrim, sky-shattering Thu’um. And so the Tongues freed us from Alduin’s rage. Gave the gift of the Voice, ushered in a new Age. If Alduin is eternal, then eternity’s done. For his story is over and the dragons are . . . gone.”

Right. ‘Except that they’re not, any longer.’ I finished off my “breakfast” mead and headed downstairs. On a bench by the exit door was an Imperial fellow who was obviously feeling chatty, as he said on seeing me, “I’m a writer by trade. Not that the people of Skyrim do much reading. I write drama, friend. The legends and history of Skyrim made to excite and inspire. Poor Giraud Gemane at the Bards College has been waiting for my latest work, _Olaf and the Dragon_ , for weeks now. Roads are a mess.”

I knew there was something I should be doing at that point. It was the way of things, for some reason. “I’ll deliver the book for you,” I said, never mind that I was still dressed in my Dragonborn armor and really ought not to be running errands for people.

“You’re sure?” he said, then handed it over. “When you see Giraud, ask for a tip. I’m sure he’ll be in a good mood after reading this. May you lose yourself in the pages of a good book!”

I nodded and went to leave, but he added, “Know any tales of nobility and courage? I’m keen to record them.”

‘Gods above,’ I thought and quick-stepped over to the door and out of Candlehearth. I headed over the the White Phial long enough to grab Wylandriah’s soul gem, then left the city. I still needed to swing by the inn at Winterhold for the ingot.

###### Sun’s Dawn, 25th, 4E 202

I reached Solitude fairly early, but obviously not so early that the bards were all asleep. I was accosted on entering by an Altmer male. “Welcome to the Bards College. I am Headmaster Viarmo. How may I help you? Here to apply?”

I held out the poetry I had found because of that spirit bard.

“Oh my!” He went into raptures over it once he looked inside, then frowned unhappily. I was then subjected to a long speech about the Festival of the Burning of King Olaf, how it had been forbidden, and—

I confess I zoned out at that point, only paying attention when he asked my opinion—because a random stranger off the street was the perfect person—about how to restore the missing parts. I was feeling flippant so I put all my persuasion to use and got him to write in the most outrageous things I could think of.

Once he was done scribbling he said, “I need to head to court immediately and present this. You should come.”

I shrugged and followed along. There was no particular harm in the world thinking the Dragonborn was appreciative of bards.

Along the way he said, “I do hope the court likes the verse. I think we’ve done an excellent job of recreating it.”

The corner of my mouth twitched in amusement. Right. Sarcasm always seemed to go right over these people’s heads.

We arrived quickly; the Bards College wasn’t that far from the Blue Palace. He walked on up the stairs muttering, “I think my voice is ready. I hope we’ve done this well.”

‘Gods above, you’d think he’d never performed for an audience before.’

“Ah, Viarmo,” Jarl Elisif said on seeing him. “I assume you are here to petition for the reinstatement of the Burning of King Olaf Festival.”

“I am, Jarl. I wish to present King Olaf’s verse from the Poetic Edda. Recovered this very day from the Bards Tomb.”

I eyed him askance at the lie.

“Ah, you mentioned something that would convince us the festival should take place, but I didn’t expect King Olaf’s lost verse. Please proceed.”

I zoned out while he recited, already having ignored it once, and wondered just what he had intended to present to her before I showed up with a long lost whatever it was. There was a long silence once he stopped speaking, which made me come back to attention.

“You have proven your point, Viarmo. The festival is truly a celebration of Solitude and a condemnation of false kings,” Elisif said.

“I thank you and the college thanks you, Jarl.”

“Furthermore, I believe such a fine poem deserves some payment of Patronage. The college will be generously rewarded,” she added.

“I thank you yet again. I will make sure our applicant, who was instrumental in . . . recovering the poem will be well rewarded.”

I got the sinking feeling I was now counted as a bard. Viarmo wandered off to prepare for a festival and I approached Falk.

“Yes, Dragonborn?” he said.

Well, that simplified things. “I wish to know if it would be . . . indelicate of me to mention to the Jarl that I spoke with the High King while I was in Sovngarde.”

He blinked at me a few times.

“Perhaps you could speak with her, at a less visible time, such as not during court hours,” I continued. “I simply wish her to know we spoke, and he expressed his concern for his lady’s heart. I found him in the Hall of Valor, safe amongst fine company such as Harbinger Kodlak Whitemane, Jurgen Windcaller, and Ysgramor.” I neglected to mention that Olaf One-Eye himself had been there.

Falk appeared to be momentarily speechless. He nodded and said, “I will pass on the message. Thank you, and I know the Jarl will also thank you.”

I nodded in return and departed, only to find that Viarmo was waiting for me outside. He passed over a coin pouch and told me I should come to the festival. He had every intention of having it that very night, and wanted me there so he could let everyone know who was responsible.

I ended up hanging around the Bards College reading any books I had not yet read after delivering that book to Giraud, and that evening went outside to be “thanked” and watch the festivities. All it really consisted of was the burning of an effigy, and then a lot of music and feasting.

###### Sun’s Dawn, 28th, 4E 202

I made the mistake of stumbling over Meridia’s Temple and heard in my head, “Look at my temple, lying in ruins. So much for the constancy of mortals, their crafts and their hearts. If they love me not, how can I reach them? Restore to me my beacon, that I might guide you toward your destiny.”

I frowned. I would like to think I had already achieved my destiny, but I was more than willing to summon Luggage long enough to get the beacon so I could return it. If nothing else it meant I’d be rid of the thing. I headed up to the top of the temple where her statue was and placed the thing into the waiting cradle. Unfortunately for me, I was then shot up into the air quite a distance and approached by a radiant orb of white light.

“It is time for my splendor to return to Skyrim. But the token of my truth lies buried in the ruins of my once great temple, now tainted by a profane darkness skittering within. The Necromancer Malkoran defiles my shrine with vile corruptions, trapping lost souls left in the wake of this war to do his bidding. Worse still, he uses the power stored within my own token to fuel his foul deeds. I have brought you here, mortal, to be my champion. You will enter my temple, retrieve my artifact, and destroy the defiler.”

“It doesn’t really sound like I have a lot of choice in the matter,” I said.

“But a single candle can banish the darkness of the entire Void,” she replied. “If not you, then someone else. My beacon is sure to attract a worthy soul. But if you are wise, you will heed my bidding. Go now, the artifact must be reclaimed and Malkoran destroyed. Malkoran has forced the doors shut. But this is my temple, and it responds to my decree. I will send down a ray of light. Guide this light through my temple and its doors will open.”

I was released to glide back down to the temple, where her statue was, landing softly. I will still unsure that I wished to treat with another Daedric Lord, even one such as Meridia, who was counted as one of the “good” ones. While I was thinking chanting impinged on my hearing and made me realize there was a word wall nearby, so I followed the sound: Dun—Grace.

###### First Seed, 1st, 4E 202

I wandered into a fort of some kind in time to see an adventurer killing a large spider. He turned and saw me, then said, “What was going on with that spider? Look, I’m getting out of here. Normally, spiders make my skin crawl, but magic spiders? Blech.” He took off and I decided to investigate.

I eventually took down some psychotic Altmer mage, looted everything, and left. Funnily enough, his surname was Frey, but I sincerely doubted he was connected to Mercer Frey.

###### First Seed, 2nd, 4E 202

A dragon by the name of Nahagliiv attacked me while I was wandering. It was obviously feeling cocky or something else it would not have told me its name, but it went down just like all the others. The Dremora Lord I summoned seemed to take great delight in attacking it once it was on the ground.

Later on I wandered through some Forsworn encampment and wiped them all out, eventually coming to an overlook high above a deep pool of water. Not especially wishing to walk all the way down I jumped. As I stepped out of the pool a spirit appeared and spoke.

“Been a long time since someone took the leap. Longer still since any survived it. I once performed the entirety of the Poetic Edda from atop Bard’s Leap before trying my luck. . . . Well, you can see how that turned out.”

The days and my deeds seemed to blur a bit after that, though I know I fought and killed another named dragon: Viinturuth. I spent time in Riften (and dropped off Wylandriah’s things), and at the College. During that time I spoke with Faralda and Tolfdir for mastery quests, and took care of those. Illusion was close, Conjuration behind that, and Restoration lagging at third. But eventually, I knew, I would be able to take those mastery quests as well. And then I wandered quite a bit before taking a brief rest at Elysium.


	28. 8.1 Civil War

23052015-28052015

## 8.1

###### Joining the War  
First Seed, 24th, 4E 202

After spending a few days at Elysium, just relaxing and reading books I’d not yet had a chance to read, I headed out again, of a mind to go to Solitude and at least see that the kids were doing well even if I didn’t actually stop in at the house.

Once I got far enough out into the wilds I donned my disguise, just in time to be attacked by a dragon. It went down, but I could see another one circling a peak in the distance. Eldersblood Peak, I thought, but if it behaved. . . .

I was halfway there when I was attacked by a Dark Brotherhood Khajiit assassin. Aside from that one while escorting Esbern, it was the first, and I had no explanation for it. Was it possible that Ulfric was so pissed off at me that he would actually go so far? I had not seen anything in messages left with Lydia about another offer to join the Stormcloaks. The message the assassin carried did specifically say “Dragonborn” so someone out there was mad. The only other possibility I could think of would be Elenwen, but for what reason? Because I was no longer necessary and she was angry I wouldn’t let her cause trouble at the peace conference? I had half a mind to assassinate Elenwen myself.

###### First Seed, 25th, 4E 202

I don’t think it was a conscious decision. I realized I had made my way to Castle Dour with the intention of seeing Tullius and joining the war effort. I even had the dossier on Ulfric with me. I verified with one of the soldiers there that the general was present and entered the castle. I could immediately hear him speaking with Rikke as I slowly walked forward.

“I’m telling you,” she was saying, “Ulfric’s planning an attack on Whiterun.”

“He’d be insane to try. He doesn’t have the men.”

“That’s not what my scouts report, sir. Every day more join his cause.”

“It’s not a cause,” Tullius said sharply. “It’s a rebellion.”

“Call it whatever you like, General. The man’s going to try to take Whiterun.”

“Jarl Balgruuf. . . .”

“Jarl Balgruuf refuses the Legion’s right to garrison troops in his city. On the other hand, he also refuses to acknowledge Ulfric’s claim.”

“Well, if he wants to stand outside the protection of the Empire, fine. Let Ulfric pillage his city.”

“General.” Rikke packed a lot of censure into that one word.

“You people and your damn Jarls,” Tullius complained.

“Sir? You can’t force a Nord to accept help he hasn’t asked for.”

I rolled my eyes, but I did understand that Balgruuf wanted so much to just stay out of it all.

“If Ulfric’s making a move on Whiterun, then we need to be there to stop him. Draft another letter with the usual platitudes, but this time share some of your intelligence regarding Ulfric’s plans. Embellish if you have to. We’ll let it seem like it’s his idea.”

“Yes, sir.”

And by then I had made it to the entrance to the planning room they were in, and passed into it. Tullius seemed surprised to see me, and asked why I was there.

I eyed Rikke for a moment, then said, “I am here to discuss the possibility of me assisting the war effort. Not as a Legionnaire, mind you. I might swear to do my utmost to support the Empire in this war, as I am a loyal citizen, but I will not swear myself as a soldier. I have reason enough to lend my aid, part of that being some of the things you yourself have said.”

He arched a brow at me. “And other reasons?”

“Well, I could cite the Dark Brotherhood assassin who attempted to kill me on my way here, but as I was unable to find anything about the contract holder I cannot use that as a basis for a decision. However, I do have information which marches with something you said some time ago, and that, along with how I have witnessed just how poorly Jarl Ulfric rules his city, has greatly influenced my choice.” I produced the dossier and offered it to him.

He took it, his eyes widening at the title and said, “How did—no, never mind. It’s better I don’t know.” He flipped it open and began reading, eventually closing it and offering it back, so I took it and tucked it away again. “I see,” he said. “You have clearly thought this out, which is more than I can say for many who join the Legion out of some dream of chasing glory.”

I snorted softly. “I think I already have that part covered, General. It would be greedy in the extreme to seek more.”

He nodded. “Still, I can see where visibly having the Dragonborn fighting on the side of the Empire would have a certain effect.” He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck before saying, “All right. Speak to Legate Rikke for an assignment. I know you can more than handle yourself when it comes to dragons, but let’s see how it goes with other things.”

“Certainly.” I gave him a respectful nod and stepped over to his adjunct.

She wrinkled her nose thoughtfully, shuffled through some papers, then said, “I’m sending you to clear out Fort Hraagstad. The ancients built many of the fortresses that dot the landscape of Skyrim. Sadly, most have fallen into disrepair. And nearly all have been overrun by bandits or other vagabonds. Fort Hraagstad is one of the few that remains mostly intact. We’re going to install a garrison there, but first, you’re going to clean out the bandits that have moved in.”

I produced my map and asked her to mark it for me, and once I had it back I nodded. “Consider that fort already yours.”

I had the place cleared out and was back by mid-afternoon. The soldier Rikke had sent along with me had been there purely for the purpose of observing, and returned with me to Castle Dour. On the way in I could hear Tullius and Rikke speaking again.

“Tell me again why I’m wasting men chasing after a fairy tale.”

“If Ulfric gets his hands on that crown, it won’t be a fairy tale. It’ll be a problem.”

“Don’t you Nords put any stock in your own traditions? I thought the Moot chose the king. We’re backing Elisif. When the Moot meets, they’ll do the sensible thing.”

“Not everyone’s agreed to the Moot. You’ve been here long enough to know that Nords aren’t always sensible. We follow our hearts.”

“So what—Ulfric gets this crown and then suddenly he’s High King?”

“No, it’s not as simple as that, but the Jagged Crown would be a potent symbol for his cause to rally around. But, if we found it first. . . .”

“And we gave it to Elisif?”

“In the absence of the Moot, it would further legitimize her claim.”

“Perhaps,” Tullius said wearily. “I’m entrusting you with what resources I can spare. But I’m warning you, if this turns out to be a waste of time and men. . . .”

“It won’t be a waste. Stonefist’s no fool. He’s found the Crown. But we’ll get to it first.” Rikke glanced over and noticed us waiting. The soldier with me made some sort of hand signal, then left after she nodded. Then she said, “Welcome back. I’m glad you made it in one piece. I’ll send men to garrison the fort right away. You did well. I’m impressed.”

Tullius had turned to look at me as she spoke, and he added his own thoughts. “I as well. I already had some measure of your honor and now I know you can handle more than just dragons. Legate Rikke will explain the next assignment to you. You probably heard some about it coming in.”

I nodded and looked to Rikke.

###### The Jagged Crown  
First Seed, 25th, 4E 202

“Ulfric’s right-hand man, Galmar Stonefist, has located what he believes is the final resting place of the Jagged Crown. We’re going to make sure he doesn’t get his hands on it. The rest of my men will be assembling outside Korvanjund. I’ll meet you there as soon as I finish up here. Let me see your map for a moment.”

As soon as it was marked and I had an idea of where to go, I nodded and departed. Even if she left at the same moment I did I would still get there first, so I could afford to track down the odd bandit to kill and have a fresh meal. Along the way I ran into a mercenary who told me, “You need anything, talk to Master Dreth.”

For some reason that name sounded familiar, but I shrugged it off and started forward. That is, until a Dunmer in mage clothing stopped me and said, “Your crown . . . gods, it’s made of Aetherium! Pure Aetherium!”

‘Ah, that’s it. The faithless, thieving apprentice.’ His additional two guards came to a stop as I said, “Yes. I had some help getting it. From Katria.”

“Katria? No, no that’s not possible! You . . . you know too much. I can’t afford to let you live.”

I scoffed and summoned, then starting flinging lightning around. All four of them were quickly enough dead and I gleefully drained Taron Dreth of his blood before stripping him and his guards of anything of value. Katria had been avenged, to some extent.

As it was I still arrived before Rikke did, though not by much. Hadvar was there, actually, and said, “I’m glad you’ll be with me in there. I don’t like the looks of this place . . . and I’m not talking about the Stormcloaks.”

“I know what you mean about these old ruins,” I replied.

“You, too, huh? I’d much rather a straight up fight than creeping around a place like this. But never mind all that. We’re the Emperor’s soldiers. We’ll do our duty no matter what stands in our way, right?”

I nodded at him, mostly to be polite. As I recalled, Hadvar was a bit. . . . Well.

“What’s the situation?” Rikke asked once she ghosted on up into the party. Unlike Lydia she could move without making a lot of noise.

“The Stormcloaks were already camped around the entrance when we got here. They don’t know we’re here yet, though,” said one of the soldiers.

“Well, that’s something at least,” she replied. She glanced over and saw me, then said, “No matter, we have the element of surprise.” She moved up and turned around to face the group. “Ulfric the Pretender wants that crown, but we’re not going to let him have it. I realize some of you may know men on the other side. But remember this. They are the enemy now and will not hesitate to end your lives either. General Tullius is counting on us to bring back the Jagged Crown, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Let’s show these rebels what real soldiers look like. Let’s go.”

We made short work of the Stormcloaks outside, then headed on inside, taking out yet more of the opposing side. Two Legionnaires were left to guard our backs from any further Stormcloaks coming in through the entrance and the rest of us continued on. Deeper inside we came to an odd room. Ahead was a narrow hallway, barely big enough for one person to go through. To either side were higher spots accessible by staircases.

“I don’t like the look of this,” Rikke said quietly, casting looks down the hall. “Perfect spot for an ambush. Ten to one they’re just waiting for us on the other side.”

“But there isn’t any other way, Legate,” one of the soldiers protested.

I felt like smacking the back of his head. Had the man not even looked around? Obviously he was unfamiliar with looking up, which meant his exposure to prodigious spiders was minimal to nonexistent.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions, soldier. The Legion always finds a way. I’d rather take a moment and look around than walk blindly into an ambush.” She turned her head to look at me. “See if you can find another way through. We’ll charge in to help as soon as we hear fighting. There may be some other way to get through on the level above. Hurry!” she urged me.

Sure enough, there was an alternate route, and I was able to sneak into the next area from the upper level. There were several Stormcloaks milling around, four or five, and if I was lucky I could pick some of them off before they realized what was happening. Unfortunately, I still wasn’t all that great with a bow. Still, I tried, conjuring one and taking careful aim before releasing.

Though I was lucky enough to nail that one right through the eye, he fell in clear sight of another Stormcloak and the element of surprise was strongly mitigated. That being so I immediately released the bow, brought in a summon, and began throwing lightning. I had three of them killed before Rikke and the soldiers rushed in, and they took care of the other two. On reflection I wondered if I should have used something like Chain Lightning initially, instead of bound bow.

I dropped off the side and continued on, the group eventually coming upon a dead Stormcloak and a downed draugr.

“What in the nine holds is that?” one of the soldiers asked, causing me to look down in disgust?—disbelief? I was so, so jaded. “Is this what killed that Stormcloak over there? Can’t be. It looks like it’s been dead for a hundred years.”

“Steady now. The Legion has faced down worse than a few dusty old bone-walkers. We’re not leaving here until we get what we came for. Now let’s keep moving.” A bit farther in we came to one of those long, wide hallways with carvings on the side walls. “And this must be the Hall of Stories,” Rikke commented.

“Oh, I’ve heard of this,” a soldier said. “The walls are supposed to show the history of the ancients who built this place.”

“Too bad we can’t read these carvings,” a different one said. “Who knows what secrets we’d uncover?”

“One thing at a time,” Rikke said firmly. “Focus on our primary mission. We’re searching for the crown.” At the end of the hall were some dead Stormcloaks, which she commented on. “Looks like we’re not the first ones here, either. Even if these carvings tell us where the crown is, I’m sure we’re going to have to find a way through this door. See what you can figure out,” she said to me. “I’m going to check out these carvings over here. Let me know if you find something.”

Considering there was a puzzle door at the end I knew exactly what to look for. The soldiers were milling about staring at the walls, so I forged ahead and scoured the floor with my eyes, quickly spotting an ebony claw key and taking it. I wept for the general lack of intelligence from the dead Nords on the floor.

As I was inspecting the “palm” for the code Rikke noticed and said, “Hmm, what is that? Some kind of stone claw? I wonder what it’s used for?”

That told me that while she was far more savvy overall, she was still a Legionnaire. I looked up from the claw and quickly spun the rings into place, then used the key to open the door before tucking it away. I had a collection to add to, after all.

“Good job!” Rikke praised as the door slowly sank down. “All right, everyone! Keep your guard up. Let’s move out!”

We continued on, getting past a barred hallway (with me finding the way to open it, of course), through a multitude of draugr (with Rikke shoring up the confidence of the men), and eventually to a fairly large room.

“The crown should be around here somewhere,” Rikke said. “Spread out, and keep your eyes open.” But then she noticed a draugr seated on a throne at the center. “Well, King. If you don’t mind, we’ll just take that crown of yours and be on our way.”

As if it understood her it stood up and raised its weapon, preparing to fight.

“Have it your way. Let’s get that crown, men!”

Two other draugr joined the fight, stepping out of sarcophagi to either side after the lids cracked off. Thankfully by then the soldiers had mostly stopped getting wibbly over the undead and simply moved in to attack. I happened to get in the killing blow, so I quickly retrieved the crown before it could hit the ground and presented it to Rikke.

She nodded and said, “Take that crown back to Solitude, to General Tullius. We’ll stay here and see if we can find anything else that could be of use.”

“Understood,” I said, and tucked the crown away. Before I backtracked I wanted to check for a shortcut. Behind the throne was a chest I looted, and at the back was a word wall: Klo—Sand. There was a staircase back at that end, as well, and it led to a shortcut, which I gladly took, opening the bar across a door along the way.

###### Message to Whiterun  
First Seed, 26th, 4E 202

It had apparently taken quite a while to get through Korvanjund, because it was on the latter side of midnight when I emerged to make the run back to Solitude. I made it back in decent time, but I was feeling tired.

Tullius greeted me with, “We need to stem the flow of silver to the rebellion. Until we retake the Reach, the Stormcloaks will plunder its mines to fund further violence.”

I ignored that and said, “Legate Rikke asked me to deliver this to you.” I produced and presented the Jagged Crown.

“Excellent work,” he said as he took it. “I have to admit, I had my doubts it even existed. Did you run into any trouble?”

“The Stormcloaks were there ahead of us, but they were also much closer coming from Windhelm.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t respond as quickly to the Legate’s suggestion as perhaps I should have,” he admitted. “But at least we ended up with the damn crown. Now then. . . . I need someone I can trust to deliver a message of great import to Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun. We have it on good authority that Ulfric has raised enough men to attack the city of Whiterun. The Jarl, however, refuses the Legion’s support. This missive should convince him. Be aware, these documents contain sensitive intelligence for the Jarl’s eyes only.” He handed me a scroll.

“Understood. No one will see the contents but the Jarl.” I tucked the scroll away and left after he nodded. I knew I could make it to Whiterun before I was forced to rest, so I took the shortcut down to the river and swam across, then started cross-country. 

###### Message to Whiterun  
First Seed, 27th, 4E 202

I would not have stopped, but I arrived in Whiterun after midnight and was not about to wake the Jarl from a sound sleep. I ducked into Breezehome without alerting Lydia (she was sleeping, as I saw) and I was back out again before she awoke. My rest was not as good as I’d have liked, but it was more than enough. The Jarl was on his throne and was surrounded by the usual crowd. When I finally got close enough I fetched out the scroll Tullius had given me and said, “I have an important message from General Tullius, Jarl Balgruuf.”

“No doubt requesting to garrison his men in my castle. How many times must I deny him? Well? Out with it.”

I was so pleased to be the incidental recipient of his ire toward Tullius. “Ulfric plans to attack Whiterun, now that the temporary cease fire is no longer necessary. You are correct that the General wants to lend Legion troops.”

Balgruuf sighed. “I see. . . . Give the papers to my steward.”

I shook my head slowly. “I swore to the General. For the Jarl’s eyes only.”

“Don’t be daft. Proventus is my eyes,” he said testily.

My brow went up in disbelief. Was Balgruuf conveniently disregarding or forgetting the many times he and Avenicci had clashed?

“Just give me the letter,” he added. “I presume once I have it, I can do as I please with it?” He was, however, apparently curious enough that when he accepted the scroll he was moved to actually read it. “Hmm. These are interesting reports.” He offered the scroll to his steward, saying, “Proventus, what do you make of all this? If Ulfric were to attack Whiterun. . . .”

“As in all things, my lord, caution. I urge us to wait and see.”

“Prey waits,” Irileth said crisply.

“I am of a mind with Irileth,” Balgruuf declared. “It’s time to act.”

“You plan to march on Windhelm?” Avenicci asked in disbelief.

Where in Oblivion he got that idea, I couldn’t say. But he seemed to be a man of extremes, in a sense.

“I’m not a fool, Proventus,” Balgruuf snapped. “I mean it’s time to challenge Ulfric to face me as a man, or to declare his intentions.”

“He’ll do no such thing!” Avenicci protested.

I zoned out at that point, waiting for them to come to some sort of decision, and eventually Balgruuf reclaimed my attention.

“Dragonborn, I’ve made up my mind, even if my advisers are still squabbling. I ask that you go to Windhelm and deliver this axe to Ulfric Stormcloak.” He detached one from the side of his throne and offered it to me.

As I accepted it I said, “The axe itself is the message?”

“Aye. Men who understand one another need not waste words. There are but a few simple truths behind one warrior giving another his axe. Ulfric will know my meaning. Keep your wits about you and you won’t be harmed. And then return. Because if Ulfric isn’t bluffing, I’ll need every able body to defend Whiterun.”

I nodded and hitched the axe to my armor, then departed swiftly. I really wished one of those Psijics had taught me how to teleport, though. I got the feeling I would be doing a lot of running around to see this war through to its end. True, I had absolutely no desire to be in the same room with Ulfric again, certainly not at his seat of power, but needs must and all. I doubt he could get away with much, anyway, not when half his soldiers were still in awe of the Nord hero of legend.

The guards at Windhelm did not seem aware I had sided with the Empire, so that was good. I had no trouble at all getting into the Palace of Kings aside from suffering a bit of hero worship along the way.

Laila Law-Giver was seated at the long table there, looking morose. “I feel so helpless out here,” she said. “The people of Riften depended on me, and I failed them.”

I passed her by and headed toward where I could hear Ulfric’s voice, off in a room to the left.

“We can’t march on Solitude,” he was saying. “Not yet. One thing at a time.”

“We need to move faster,” said who I assumed was Stonefist.

“It’s working, Galmar. Our patience has won us friends and allies. And our armies are systematically taking care of the rest.”

I didn’t know about that. From what I’d seen of various map tables, the Empire had control over more holds than Ulfric did.

I stepped into the room and Ulfric angled his head toward me and said, “Yes? Make it quick. I’m a busy man.”

Perhaps his peripheral vision was awful because I would have thought he’d react a bit differently to the Dragonborn showing up on his doorstep. “I bring a message from the Jarl of Whiterun,” I replied, slowly removing the axe from my armor and offering it to him on my open palm.

“Is that so? I’ve been wondering when he’d come around,” he said as he turned to me and saw my hand. “Oh. What’s this?” He took the axe briefly, stared hard at it, then said, “Ah. You’re quite brave to carry such a message. It’s a pity you’ve chosen the wrong side. . . .”

My eyes narrowed. I’d say they went all flinty, but it’s not like I whipped out a piece of polished metal to check.

Ulfric handed the axe back. “You can return this axe to the man who sent it. And tell him he should prepare to entertain . . . visitors. I expect a great deal of excitement in the city of Whiterun in the near future.”

I accepted it back and walked away briskly. I didn’t _think_ he’d dare attack me, but neither was I going to run or sprint or show any sign that I might be scared. Outside the palace I sped up. I wanted out of his damn city, his stinking cesspool of racism and lawlessness. I rode back right then, despite the late hour.

###### Battle for Whiterun  
First Seed, 27th, 4E 202

Perhaps I should have gone faster. I arrived near dusk and hastened up to the palace, and then up another level to the map table area, where a whole bunch of people seemed to be gathered. One of them was obviously with the Legion; he was leaning over the map table, examining troop deployments or something.

Obviously Balgruuf had sent a message off to Tullius in my absence and obviously there was an encampment close enough that they could fortify Whiterun on short notice. I hadn’t even been there a minute when a soldier showed up to gasp out a message about catapults being moved into position by the enemy—how in Oblivion I had missed seeing them on the way in—and that they were to be loaded with fire.

“So, he wants to take my city, walls intact,” Balgruuf said in response. He absently took the axe I held out and continued, “We’ll need to set up water brigades to combat the flames.”

I zoned out again until a soldier rushed in and said, “Sir, they’re on the move. They’ll be at the gates at any moment!”

“This is it! Time to see what these Stormcloaks are made of,” Balgruuf replied.

The Legate nodded and said, “The men should already be gathering at the gates.” But then he turned to that same soldier and added, “Move it, soldier. Spread the word. Go. Go. Go.”

Balgruuf lagged behind a little on the way out to the battle. “You’ve returned with the axe. I knew that would be his response. As soon as you left I sent word to General Tullius, who’s been kind enough to lend us some of his troops and Legate Cipius. Let Ulfric try to make it past our combined forces.”

He left and Cipius came up to me. “Get down to the front line. We must hold the city.”

I turned and sprinted off. Night had fallen in that short amount of time. I was not particularly looking forward to fighting in a war battle like that, but needs must. On my way down to the gates I ducked into Breezehome and grabbed Lydia. Then I ran forward and got out to the approach to the city in time to hear Rikke give some speech I didn’t bother to listen to, but I did notice that Hadvar was present in the crowd of soldier.

And so it went. Stormcloaks by the dozen charging on up, dying, the twang and thunk of catapults being launched. There was a lot of smoke and flames and war cries or those of pain, but in the end we killed every last one that got anywhere near the city.

As Balgruuf was giving a victory-type speech I was amused to see Horse trot up and across the drawbridge that never seemed to ever be anything but down. Soldiers started to head off to various locations once the Jarl was done so I started eyeing the dead. Balgruuf came up to me and said, “Thank you for your role in all of this. It’d be my honor should you decide to make Whiterun your home. Speak with Proventus. He’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

It was then I wondered if Balgruuf had taken too many blows to the head. After all, the Dragonborn already had a house in Whiterun and was a Thane of the city. He wandered off with Irileth following, but she paused long enough to tell me if I made a move against Balgruuf she would gut me. I’d say Nords are crazier than a bag of cats, but Irileth is a Dunmer, so. . . .

I went back to eyeing the dead, finally stripping two of them down for the uniforms. One was an officer’s set of gear, which I thought would look fine on a mannequin at Elysium, and one was just normal, which might come in handy down the line.

It was then I realized Lydia was nowhere to be seen. Had the damn fool gotten herself killed? But before I could investigate more of the bodies Hadvar came to a stop next to me and said, “Do colours seem brighter to you? Everything seems bigger, too. Strange. . . . Are your ears ringing? I hope that goes away.”

‘Oh gods. I am never being a soldier for real or using melee weapons. These people have all had their brains rattled.’

“I’m pretty sure I killed more than you. I was counting,” he added.

I turned away and looked at bodies some more, then shrugged and went through the gates. It was then that I felt a white hot anger building up in my core—I was surprised I didn’t burst out with a flame cloak or something. Lydia was standing there, a bit back from the gates, idly messing with one of her gauntlets. The bitch hadn’t even joined the battle. What use was she as a damn housecarl if she couldn’t even follow orders! I had half a mind to boot her ass out of Breezehome for being a waste of air and get the lock changed.

‘Gods, fine, she barely knows me and apparently hates the idea of being a housecarl—or at least mine. But to brazenly avoid the battle?’ Her attitude was exactly why I’d never bothered to try to get to know her. I shook my head and went to the house, intending to get at least some sleep. Lydia followed me and I dismissed her once inside, then went upstairs and into my bedroom there. I also blocked off the damn door, just in case.

###### Reunification of Skyrim  
First Seed, 28th, 4E 202

I checked in with Legate Cipius and he requested I check back with Tullius, so it was off to Solitude again, it seemed. On the way out of the city I saw that parts of it were still burning. Outside I disdained the roads and cut cross-country, heading for Labyrinthian. I was pleased when it started to rain; that should help with the issues in the city. I sprinted whenever I thought I could stand to, and given just how much territory I’d covered and how often, I had quite a bit of stamina.

Solitude came into view in the distance within three hours. An hour after that I was in Castle Dour (the water in the marshes slowed me down, not to mention that stupid chaurus I stumbled over). Tullius gave me an “honorary” promotion to Questor and sent me off to speak to Rikke at the Imperial camp in The Pale. I headed back across the marsh and toward Dawnstar.

Rikke sent me on a mission to purloin some Stormcloak orders and gave me two locations to try to coerce innkeepers (where their messages regularly went through). I still had that Stormcloak gear so I could change beforehand and employ a little misdirection. The Nightgate Inn came into view a couple of hours after noon and I changed my clothes out of sight. I also wrapped some spare cloth around my face to “ward off the cold wind”. I probably didn’t need to be pushing so damn hard, but I wanted all of this to be over.

The innkeeper bought my story of the courier being in danger and pointed the way, or said I could simply wait, as they’d be back by soon enough. I chose to pursue. I was still geared up as a Stormcloak when I ran into her so at first she wasn’t suspicious. Something twigged, though, and she attacked me. Once she was dead and I had the orders I dragged her corpse to the nearby river and let it be washed away.

I waited until I was well past Nightgate heading west to change back to my Dragonborn armor. Along the way I had to pass Fort Dunstad; it was filled with Stormcloaks so I just used invisibility to get by. The sun was setting by the time I made it back to Rikke at the camp, and she pointed me to the next phase of operations: getting the “corrected” orders to Dawnstar.

Dawnstar wasn’t all that far from the camp, but it simply wasn’t going to happen that evening. I couldn’t possibly get there quickly enough, before the Jarl retired from court, and I was really tired from running hard so much all day. There was no help for it but to get some sleep and head out early.

###### Reunification of Skyrim  
First Seed, 29th, 4E 202

I set out not long after the sun had risen, keeping my purloined Stormcloak gear to hand. It would be far less suspicious to wear it again in the event I couldn’t just invisibly drop the courier’s letter near the Jarl.

As it turned out, he tipped me for the delivery. Five whole septims. Gods above, I could retire soon on that kind of gold!

A little misdirection outside of town saw me back in my proper disguise. On the way back to the camp I was attacked by a crazed Khajiit. I attracted all the crazies. Maybe it was Sheogorath’s influence?

Dunstad, the fort I had bypassed the day previous, was taken with very few Legion casualties. I and one of the Legionnaires chased down the last two Stormcloaks trying to flee. Odd that, that a Nord would flee battle instead of going out in a blaze of glory for their cause. Rikke sent me back to Tullius and I employed my usual trick of going cross-country, sprinting as often as possible, and arrived at Castle Dour a few hours after noon.

He advanced my rank again, making me an honorary Praefect, and gave me another blade I would never use. I refrained from sighing in his presence, but it was difficult not to want to when the military sorts, even though there were plenty of battle mages to be had, all seemed to think handing over a blade or an axe was something to be welcomed by the recipient.

I had to wonder if things were happening so fast simply because I was helping out. Was it conceited of me to wonder that? He did say having the Dragonborn visibly siding with the Empire would have a certain effect. But it was also true that I apparently had more real-world experience than most of the people in the ranks, and I was far more decisive when it came to fighting.

Tullius sent me off to Winterhold next. That I went out the front gates of Solitude and took the long way down to the inlet instead of taking the shortcut through the tower just meant I was getting tired again. I would have to rest once I got to the next camp.

Rikke was waiting for me again. I almost asked how, but even just a little thought told me the answer. She obviously had a series of campaigns planned out with Tullius. While I was running around reporting to him back in Solitude, someone from our raiding party would have gone to report to her. She would have given orders to both the camp and the fort, and moved on to the next planned mission. If we’d failed, well . . . I didn’t know.

Still, I had to rest first, so I did. I hated sleeping in a bedroll in a tent that gods only knew how many others had used, and around a bunch of strangers, but there was no help for it.

###### Reunification of Skyrim  
First Seed, 30th, 4E 202

Rikke, once I checked in with her, sent me off to Fort Kastav. Seemed we had some people being held prisoner there; we were to rescue them and take the fort. It was still dark when I arrived (did Rikke ever sleep? I wondered) and Hadvar was waiting, along with a group of soldiers. He suggested I be the one to go in for the rescue part of things.

I nodded and said, “Do you want to wait until it’s light, or. . . ?”

He shook his head.

“I’ll go in now, then.”

“Soon as we hear the fighting start, we’ll rush on it to join you,” Hadvar assured me.

With that I sneaked off to enter the cellar of the fort. Surprisingly there were only a couple of guards down there and I killed them quickly and efficiently. The prisoners were calling through the bars, telling me one of guards had a key to the cell doors, but I ignored that and set about picking them open. A person couldn’t learn if they didn’t do, after all. Mastering a skill wasn’t about sitting there reading a damn book all day, either.

One by one I released them and one by one they rushed over to the chest holding their confiscated armor and weapons, and then we all charged upstairs into the main fort. By the time we made it outside, having left a trail of dead Stormcloaks in our wake, Hadvar and his bunch had taken care of the ones outside. Obviously one of them had good hearing, or had been lurking just outside the wall to give the signal to attack.

Rikke sent me back to Tullius. I sighed and started the run. The sun was low in the sky when I made it to Castle Dour and I was bone tired, and therefore unamused when he requested I go to Markarth. Or, as he said, “You better help me win back Markarth, or die trying. It was your brilliant strategy to give it over to the rebels in the first place.”

He also “promoted” me to Tribune and gave me another damn blade. I couldn’t decide if his comments and rewards were a bizarre manifestation of a quirky sense of humor or what. 

###### Reunification of Skyrim  
First Seed, 31st, 4E 202

I arrived at the camp in the middle of the night; dawn was a few hours off I estimated. An unused bedroll was commandeered and I got some sleep before reporting in with Rikke. But before I could enter her command tent I heard the distinctive sound of a dragon’s roar and glanced up sharply at the sky.

The soldiers milled around anxiously, hands on their bows, but the dragon merely circled the camp a few times before flying away. Maybe it was just curious? Or it knew I was there and that’s what made it curious? Checking up on me?

In any case, I spoke with Rikke, and then went off to cleanse Fort Sungard of rebels so that Rikke could garrison the fort for the Empire.

Tullius “promoted” me to Legate when I reported to him. And then, finally, he said we were off to Eastmarch. We were finally going to move in on Windhelm.

###### Battle for Windhelm  
Rain’s Hand, 2nd, 4E 202

I confess, I managed to get a little lost on the way to the camp near Windhelm—a raging blizzard and lots of pines to crash into. Blech. I finally arrived in the middle of the night, but as with any camp there were always soldiers awake and alert.

On my way to the Battle for Windhelm I passed by those noble idiots again, the ones trying to get to Vici’s wedding. Words failed me. I also hoped that dragon flying around over there was non-hostile.

No such luck. I was forced to kill it before continuing on.

I eventually got to Windhelm and, after Tullius gave his morale speech outside the gates to fire the soldiers up, fought through the convoluted streets. Some were blocked by rubble, some merely by barricades that could be hacked down or burned. The palace loomed near in next to no time at all—or it just seemed that way after getting caught up in things—and I, the General, and Rikke all piled in.

Oddly—to me, anyway—the only people in there were Jarl Ulfric and Galmar Stonefist. I couldn’t for the life of me figure how he had been directing his troops, unless it had been to say, “Throw yourselves at them unto the last man!”

“Secure the door,” Tullius ordered quietly.

“Already done, sir,” Rikke replied.

Then they advanced, Tullius saying, “You are guilty of insurrection, murder of Imperial citizens, the assassination of King Torygg, and high treason against the Empire.”

“I’ll never surrender Skyrim into the hands of a corrupt and dying Empire,” Ulfric said ringingly.

“You are traitors and will die traitor’s deaths,” Tullius replied, then standing before Ulfric’s throne. “Stand down and face public execution, or advance and face summary execution by my hands.”

And then it was on. I took care of Galmar while Tullius and Rikke went for Ulfric. Galmar was dead by my hand and Ulfric was hunched over on the steps of his throne, gasping for breath around the pain he must have been feeling.

“Any last requests before I sent you to . . . to wherever you people go when you die?” Tullius said.

“Let the Dragonborn be the one to do it. It’ll make for a better song.”

I might have been inclined to do the deed, but he had just had to mess it up by adding that bit.

“Song or not, I just want it done,” Tullius said with minor exasperation.

I made certain my voice rumbled with power when I said, “You must be a fool if you think I’d want to give false glory to a man who aimed to govern this country when he failed so miserably at governing his own city, Ulfric. I’ll not give you the satisfaction.”

Tullius nodded, said, “Fine by me,” and finished him off.


	29. 9.1 Interlude

8052015-29052015

## 9.1

###### Rain’s Hand, 3rd, 4E 202

I left for Winterhold as soon as possible, killing a Volkihar vampire along the way who had just killed a Vigilant. I pulled the usual trick at the cave near town, then went straight to my quarters.

I would stay a while, go over paperwork, do some reading. . . .

The laughable thing was I still had three schools of magic to master. They were very close, but not yet there. The other thing was—what now? I could pretend I was never the Dragonborn, so long as I never got caught near a dying dragon, that was.

After some thought I decided I would just go back to how it was before. I’d wander around, advance my skills, maybe even start learning Alchemy properly. Once I had that decided I went down to the Arcanaeum to look for something to read. That damn chest was still there, mocking me, and Urag was seated at his desk. Maybe another time.

While I was browsing around (where I found out from a random book, incidentally, that the Dwemer called Blackreach FalZhardum Din) I heard more than a few of my colleagues speaking, and one thing that stood out was that whatever it was Arniel was waiting for might have arrived. Being nosy, I tracked him down. He needed help, but then Arniel wasn’t much for exerting himself, as I had come to learn over the months I’d been a part of the College.

Enthir was supposed to obtain something for him, but. . . . Well, it’ll be more of the usual.

And Colette had obviously gone mad. The entire time I was speaking to Enthir I could hear her over in the next room, casting mage armor on herself over and over again. Why? Was that her idea of a nervous quirk? She always was rabbiting on about how people were sabotaging her. Maybe she thought, in addition to that, that she would be attacked at any moment by the forces of evil. Then again, she had a tendency to rub everyone the wrong way.

On a whim I went to the Hall of the Elements to see if any lessons were being held and walked into a lecture being given by Faralda on “External Pressures”, as she called them.

“It is no secret that both the Synod and the College of Whispers have recently made inquiries as to the status of our College here in Winterhold. At this time, there is no indication that either group is aware of the other’s correspondence. The College of Winterhold has thus far declined requests for direct meetings.

“This has been at the specific request of Arch-Mage Aren. Aren believed that although the initial communications were innocent enough, they were sent with a particular motive in mind. The Synod’s harsh rules and draconian structure are maintained only by suppressing any opposition to their Council’s policies. It is entirely possible that they look to our College here in Winterhold in order to find supporters for their organization.

“Likewise, the College of Whispers has long been driven by its desire to directly oppose the Synod. They focus on research banned by the Synod, such as Conjuration and Necromancy. The College of Whispers hopes to learn that our College also supports these avenues of research. Thus they may claim that the Synod is indeed a political minority in the Empire and should be treated as such.

“Our actual position and policies are irrelevant. No matter the facts of the response, it will certainly be twisted to suit the whims of either group. Indeed, it has been jokingly suggested that we send the exact same response to both, which each will warp into support for their side. At present, these two groups do little beyond attempting to gain the attention and favor of the Emperor. They appear to have little interest in real study and research for the sake of gaining knowledge.

“Arch-Mage Aren believed, as does Arch-Mage Yvara, that their conflict poses a significant threat to the autonomy of our College, and I concur. Falling in with either would threaten to draw much unwanted attention to our College. If either group goes through less official channels and attempts to contact you directly, please refer them to Master-Wizard Tolfdir. Say as little as possible so as to avoid compromising our neutral position.”

###### Rain’s Hand, 4th, 4E 202

I was, unfortunately for College business overall, on my way again far sooner than I had expected, though mainly because I wanted to help Arniel and hopefully get him back to being more useful.

While in town I checked in at the Jarl’s longhouse. With the changeover from Stormcloak to Imperial control we then had Kraldar in as the new Jarl. He was, as I recalled, favorable in tone toward the College, which was a relief. After a quick chat with him my status as Thane was reinstated, and I was ready to leave town.

If nothing else, I could finally go to and from Winterhold without having to fight past that fort on the way.

###### Rain’s Hand, 5th, 4E 202

‘You have got to be shitting me,’ I thought, gazing down at the person I’d just killed in self-defense. ‘I have vampire assassins after me now? She’s not even tricked out like she’s one of Harkon’s idiots, so—what? Did the Dark Brotherhood farm out the contract in the hopes that someone else could manage to off me?’

I kicked the corpse and kept going.

I supposed I was a bit insane to be traveling at that hour, but . . . it was a clear night, coming up on dawn, really. I was headed to Riften, and I was feeling so relaxed (assassins notwithstanding) just meandering along, pausing for an extended soak in the hot springs, picking flowers—like the old days before all that Dragonborn nonsense.

Brynjolf was out in the marketplace when I wandered into town, hawking a new product. “Genuine Powdered Aetherium!” he cried out. “Want to look younger? Change the colour of your hair? Add some vivacity to your vitality and potency to your potential? Works well mixed into mead, ale, or even wine. Only twenty gold coins! Also works well as a skeever deterrent.”

I was a bit surprised, actually. I would have thought with his increased responsibilities at the guild he would not have the time to be at ground level keeping an eye out for possible recruits and trying to shift dodgy goods.

I wandered by his stall casually, shooting him an amused look, and ducked into the Bee and Barb. Marcurio didn’t give me a second look, which is just as it should be. Well, he offered his services, of course, but. . . . After I bought a selection of beverages and some food I exited. A good stretch of time was spent rifling through all the wares for sale, with a hope of something of interest, and also collecting alchemical ingredients.

Brynjolf was packing up when I wandered back through, so I strolled on by him again, headed for the canal. We met up a short time later in the Ragged Flagon and cozied up to a free table on the fringes of the main bar area. I produced some Velvet LeChance for Brynjolf, a blood potion for myself, and smiled at him. “So. . . .”

“Yes?” he said innocently.

I shook my head and smiled again. “So now you’re using my tales to come up with—” I stopped. Had to laugh.

“Aye, lass. And why not? I’ve only got so much imagination.”

I sighed, chuckled a little, and said, “So what is the stuff?”

“Ah. Powdered crystallized honey. Used blue mountain flower for the colouring.”

I shrugged. Should be harmless. Assuming anyone bought any, that was. “Got attacked again. Another assassin. Vampire, not Volkihar, no note or orders on her.”

“Really now. What _is it_ about you that draws them in? I just can’t figure.” He took a sip of his drink and shook his head.

“Because I’m short?” I suggested facetiously. “Oh, that reminds me. That guy, the one who stole Katria’s work? Met him. I don’t even understand how he knew I had the thing on me. I didn’t think it was showing. But he flipped out and said I couldn’t be allowed to live because I knew too much, and attacked, him and his guards. He’s dead now.”

Brynjolf blinked at me.

“You know, one of these days I’m going to steal you away from the guild for a while. Haul you off to the hot springs or something. I swear, you spend too much time in this town.”

Delvin overheard that comment and laughed roguishly, causing Brynjolf to aim a scowl over his shoulder at the man. “Go on then, Bryn. Let the lady _steal_ you away.”

I got up, flashed some fang with a grin, and hauled Brynjolf up. “I have permission! It’s almost like not stealing at all! Thank you, kind sir.” And then I dragged a mostly unprotesting Brynjolf away to the Ratway.

###### Rain’s Hand, 6th, 4E 202

I was disturbed to see, as we went by the main entrance to Riften (mainly in order to get to the road from my house outside town) that there were two cultists sniffing around. Brynjolf noticed my unease, but refrained from saying anything just then.

And I did not take him to the hot springs. Instead we made the journey to Elysium. He had never been there and I thought it’d be amusing to drag him halfway across the country. Besides, he really did spend too much time in Riften. I introduced him to Valdimar, showed him around, and then spent a few hours in the “hot spring” out back.

“So why the uneasiness?” he finally asked, after we were happily soaking in hot water with bottles of mead and blood off on the edges.

“Eh. . . . You ever spoken to one of them?”

He shook his head. “Seen them, ghosting through the city.”

I sighed heavily. “They’re cultists. You might have noticed I have a set of their gear in the armory as a souvenir. Not long after I was introduced to destiny I was attacked in Whiterun. They’re from Solstheim, followers of some guy named Miraak. The ‘True’ Dragonborn, according to them. Shockingly this is only the second time I’ve seen any of them, but. . . . I suppose the only way for me to find out what’s going on would be to go to Solstheim.”

“What causes you to hesitate? Is it because you prefer to leave that part of your life behind?”

“Well, yes. At least partly. I’m uneasy because aside from killing me I don’t have any idea what they want. If there’s another Dragonborn out there, with mad cultists on his side, can I really afford to ignore them in the long run?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“So, taking up with strange men, are we?”

I looked over and smiled as she came closer. “Ah, you’ve seen him before. But in case you didn’t catch his name, this is Brynjolf. Brynjolf, this is Serana.” I eyed the sky. “You going to join us?”

“Sure. Why not?” she said, then quickly stripped down to her smalls and waded in, taking the seat across from me.

“Valdimar tell you I was back here?”

She shook her head. “He wasn’t inside. Maybe he’s gone into town. But I saw your horse so I knew you were around somewhere, and I could hear your voices.”

I nodded, glanced at Brynjolf, then looked at her and said, “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you. I know, you were off with Valerica, getting things settled, so the absolute last thing I wanted to do was get in the way of any of that by dropping any of this on you.” She furrowed her brow in confusion and I just shook my head slightly. “While you were gone, something mind-boggling happened. You remember that Dragon Elder Scroll?”

“Of course.”

“Well, it became relevant again. See. . . .”

Some time later, once I was done with my recital, she shook her head. “Maybe I should pay extra to get the Black Horse Courier to deliver to the castle,” she joked.

I snickered and felt more than a little relief. I’d felt bad about keeping this from her. I knew I could trust her, that wasn’t at issue, but I really did want her to have that chance to reconnect with her mother. I was relieved that she wasn’t angry at the omission or delay.

“So do you plan to go?”

“I don’t know yet,” I said stubbornly. “It’d mean putting on that face again. It’s bad enough I was running around with both faces during all the ruckus, but to do the same over there? The place is too small from what I understand. It’d be . . . odd, I guess.”

She got a thoughtful look on her face, nodded slightly, and looked at Brynjolf. “So, Thieves Guild.”

“Aye.”

“All the way out here? Relaxing in a pool with this trouble-magnet?”

“I was stolen,” he deadpanned.

###### Rain’s Hand, 9th, 4E 202

There was another assassin, a few hours before dawn. I wasn’t even sure if I was in Whiterun, The Rift, or The Pale at the time. Really now. Giving the Khajiit, and the Dark Brotherhood, a really, really bad name. It was pitiful.

I found some poor guy outside a tomb. I think if I’d let him he’d have sobbed on my shoulder. He was fairly young, a Nord, and easily startled. “Ah! Oh, by Kyne you startled me. There’s a necromancer around here so watch yourself. . . . Can you help me? He’s in the tomb doing gods know what with my dead relatives.”

I could think of a lot of things, actually, but suspected that outlining all of them would make the poor fellow collapse in horror. “Sure,” I said easily. “What’s going on?”

“Vals Veran.”

I nearly snorted. What a ridiculously alliterative name.

“My family has never really seen eye to eye with him and he has finally gone off the deep end. He’s gone in to defile our family tomb by using our ancestors for his filthy dark elf necromancy.”

I arched a brow at him in mild disbelief. “I kind of doubt his race has much to do with anything. I’ve seen plenty of Nord necromancers in Skyrim, my friend.”

“Oh, uh. . . . Well. My aunt went in after him, but she hasn’t come out yet and I’m afraid to go in by myself.” He blushed at the admission and ducked his head. I almost expected him to start toeing the floor any second.

“So, why did you let her go in alone if you’re willing to go in now with someone else?”

The tips of his ears went red at the question and he sighed. I felt the life being sucked out of me at the sound. Lengthy, stuttering, morose, ashamed. “I’m not proud of it. I’m terrified of that place and Aunt Agna knows it. My Da locked me in there in a drunken rage when he left us . . . three days in there eating the offerings left for our dead before Aunt Agna found me.”

Well, at least that was an understandable reason, so perhaps I should be a touch more kindly toward him, especially as he _was_ willing to stiffen his spine and go in at that point—with help, of course. “All right. Let’s go.”

“Great! I’ll unlock the door and we can go inside, then you can lead the way.”

Funny. That sounded awfully familiar. What was it with people always pushing me to the front? And I was supposed to lead the way in an entirely unfamiliar tomb?

Inside he said, “We should get after Vals Veran before he does more damage here.”

The gods were torturing me for being helpful, I just knew it. “Right.” I headed forward and he fell in behind me. “And how do you feel about ‘killing’ your ancestors?”

“We’re not killing them,” he replied, “they were already dead. We’re helping them back to Sovngarde.”

I would have to discuss that with Serana, actually. I know that one lady actually managed to get two souls to pop up in protest after their bodies had been conscripted into her “army”, but never having spent any real time learning about necromancy (as opposed to knowing spells which would press a corpse into temporary service—as a distraction, in my opinion) I had no idea if what he was talking about was even normally possible. That was, long after they had died. Not like that one fellow I got books from and sold to Vekel, who performed his travesties on the freshly dead, or near dead. I shook my head slightly and tried to pay attention to the tomb.

“That dark elf is about to be a dead elf.”

I flung my hand up in disgust. “Stop with the racism or I’m turning around and leaving you here alone!”

We eventually came to a cooling corpse after taking down any number of draugr.

“No!” he cried, and it was then that I realized I didn’t even know his name. “Aunt Agna! Talos, why didn’t I go in with her?”

“How about you check those doors there,” I suggested, and as soon as he turned away I did a quick check of the body. I found a note on her, amongst other things, but that was the only thing I took.

> #### Golldir, don’t be such a milk drinker. I know you’ve been scared of Hillgrund’s Tomb since your brother locked you in there when you were children, but we can’t let Vals Veren get away with this!

‘Wow, they both do it. And someone’s memory is messed up. Why was this note even still in her pocket?’

> #### Hillgrund and our other ancestors need us to protect their remains, and I’m going in, with or without you. I’m sure one dark elf is nothing to worry about, but if something should happen, don’t forget to check the secret passage in case he barricaded himself in the deeper chambers.

> #### —Aunt Agna

Just then Golldir made a frustrated sound. “He’s barred the door. Gods only know how he’s . . . defiling the bodies of my ancestors in there! Agna once told me there is a secret room deeper in where they buried disgraced members of the family. Maybe that will get us into the main chamber.”

Something about seeing his aunt laid out dead stiffened his spine, because Golldir took the lead at that point. We fought through yet more draugr—well, he fought, I incinerated them—and then he looked around and said, “This looks like the area Agna told me about. She said that the bear would show the way. . . .”

I quickly located the chain necessary to open the secret passageway and gave it a yank. The lid cracked off a nearby sarcophagus and hit the floor.

“You found it!” he said excitedly. “The passage goes through the sarcophagus.”

I palmed my face and prayed for the strength to endure.

“I don’t like this,” he continued, “but we’d better keep going.”

Finally—we came to the alternate door to the main chamber. We slipped inside and were more or less immediately noticed by Veren.

“The dead should be made to serve the living, not the other way around!” Veren said grandiosely, mockingly.

“I’ll return my ancestors to Sovngarde, and you with them!”

‘He wants to send a Dunmer to Sovngarde?’

“Sovngarde is a myth, you s’wit! And now you can join your ancestors in service to me!”

Veren gestured and a handful of draugr staggered out to play. We “killed” them, Veren gestured again, we “killed” them, and we did it a third time. During all this I had a Dremora Lord out, and Veren was being a skeevy little bastard by teleporting every time I tried to nail him with a spell. But after that third wave of draugr—which included a Deathlord—he finally stopped teleporting. Maybe he could only do it so many times in any given time frame? Maybe he was feeling confident?

He died.

“Thank you for your help with Vals,” Golldir said afterward, and I praised Akatosh that the man had finally learned you did not need to use a person’s full name every time you referred to them. “Please, take this”—he handed me a coin pouch—“and leave me to see to Aunt Agna and my other family members.”

I nodded and went to unbar the main doors, then hastened off. I checked the pouch outside and blinked in shock. ‘Wow. Fifteen hundred septims. I am very impressed. And glad I only yelled at him once.’

I tucked the money away and continued on randomly, eventually stumbling over a cave on a river. Outside was a lot of bloody bones, several bodies—I ducked in out of curiosity. There were plenty of trolls in there, feasting on miners, merchants, and bandits. While I was there, clearing the place out, I found a strange knife or dagger. I’d never seen anything like it, nothing constructed in that fashion before. It didn’t really look like any style I was familiar with. I was especially pleased when one of the bows I looted was a Daedric one. Even if I never used it, a traveling companion might be able to.

###### Rain’s Hand, 10th, 4E 202

At the College I went to see Arniel, hoping to get some kind of specifics regarding what he had ordered and had been lost. He was singularly cagey about the whole thing, so I decided to show him the knife I’d found and get his thoughts. I never expected it to be the one he was so desperately seeking.

“The dagger. . . ? By Akatosh, they didn’t even wrap it correctly?” He shrugged his tunic sleeve down to cover his hand and snatched the dagger out of my hand. “You didn’t touch it did you? Well no, of course you must have! Did you attempt to wield it? And you’re not dead? Gods, it’s a wonder it’s in one piece!”

‘Funny, I don’t recall the part where I said I tried to _use_ the thing,’ I thought, eyeing him in bemusement. “So this is it? Do you have everything you need for your experiment now?”

“I do—I do indeed. Keening, one of the great tools of Kagrenac himself, is finally in my possession. I don’t think I really believed this day would come. This artifact is beyond nearly all value. A singular instrument of immense power, a tool of impossible import. Keening, and its counterpart, Sunder. Used by the tonal architects of the Dwemer to tap into the Heart of Lorkhan.”

I stifled a yawn and nodded. “And. . . ?” The man could talk the ears off a mammoth given the chance.

“Now we see whether my theories are correct. I apologize if I have not been clear about my work. I didn’t want to discuss it for fear this moment would never come,” he said. “Everyone knows the Dwemer disappeared. No one knows why. This little experiment is a first step in recreating the events of their disappearance in an effort to unravel that mystery. Lacking the heart of a dead god, I am substituting the crystal you helped craft in its place.”

I frowned. Had I really done that? I honestly had no recollection. Most members of the College avoided him or were short with him, so maybe I had, in and around other things.

“I also lack Sunder, the counterpart to the dagger Keening. I am reasonably confident, however, that this will still work. I certainly don’t expect it to have quite the same results. I’m no tonal architect, of course! Well, I suppose it’s time, isn’t it? Let’s see what happens. You, uh. . . . You may want to stand back a step or two.”

I shuffled back to just the other side of the archway.

“But please, don’t leave entirely. You’ve been instrumental in this process. I’d like you to see the results first-hand. Right, then. . . .”

He placed some soul gem into one of the holders in the room and brandished Keening, then slammed the edge of the blade against the gem. “Hmm. That—that didn’t really do anything, did it? Perhaps a little harder?” He tried twice more with no better result. “I don’t understand,” he almost wailed. “This should produce some notable effect.” He took a step back, huffed, and shouted, “Work, damn you!” Then he started striking the gem with Keening over and over again.

And then he was just . . . gone. Vanished. Keening hit the floor. I realized, as I was crouching down to retrieve the dagger, that I suddenly had knowledge of how to summon his spirit, or shade, or something like that. Curious, I summoned him.

He appeared in spirit form, blessedly silent. Well, except for the part where he sounded like a Dead Thrall. Blech. I would have to try him out in battle at some point, but, for now, paperwork!

###### Rain’s Hand, 13th, 4E 202

I saw another cultist not far out of Winterhold, which pissed me off. A Thalmor patrol in the area killed him without a second thought, which saved me the trouble. It was a little odd that it was just the one, though.

I got to Elysium several hours later and retired to my room for some sleep, and popped awake again about mid-morning. When I was in Whiterun another one of those fits came over me and I found myself agreeing to help a handful of people. I told Amren I’d bring his sword back should I find it.

Took a wrong turn and stumbled into the Hall of the Dead, where the Priest of Arkay there, Andurs, wanted his amulet back. “Tell me,” he said, when I came through the door (which made me wonder if he was starved for conversation), “do you believe in mighty Arkay, god of life and death?”

“Yes,” I said simply. If I could believe in Akatosh and Meridia and Sheogorath and Hermaeus Mora, I could believe in Arkay.

“I’m glad to know that,” he replied with relief, “because I need your help. You see, I’ve lost something precious: my Amulet of Arkay. It’s the source of my divine powers and also a sacred badge of office. I misplaced it in the catacombs. I’d look for it, but I’ve been hearing noises down there. I fear the dead have become . . . restless. Without that amulet, I’m powerless to confront them. Would you be willing to search for it?”

I eyed him for the moment, feeling more than a little annoyance. He was a priest, but completely ineffective without his amulet? His only power came from a piece of jewelry? I probably had ten of the damn things in my jewelry box at Elysium! Prayer wasn’t any good at all? Spells? _Faith_? “Of course,” I said, smiling politely.

“I’ll just wait here and make sure nothing foul escapes the catacombs.”

‘While being utterly powerless to actually do anything if something did,’ I thought as I went through the doors. ‘Well, unless he flings himself bodily against the doors in the hopes that would be enough to keep them closed. He _is_ a skinny old man, though.’

There were, indeed, skeletons roaming around in there, but a five year old child could knock one of those to pieces with a damn potato as their only weapon. I found his amulet and brought it back to him.

“Oh, thank Arkay. Please, take this gold for your troubles.”

I nodded in thanks and hastened off to donate that money to the temple, along with some of my own, then wandered into the marketplace to see what was for sale. Carlotta heaved a huge sigh when I neared—the kind of sigh that generally meant “please help me”—and I asked her if something was wrong.

“Life’s hard enough with all these men propositioning me. But that bard is the worst.” When I arched an inquiring brow at her she continued, “Mikael is begging for a dagger up against his throat, the way he goes on about me. I’ve heard him boasting at the Bannered Mare, saying he’ll ‘conquer’ me ‘as a true Nord conquers any harsh beast’. Hmph.”

“Well now,” I said. “I think I’ll go have a little chat with him.”

“If you want to try, go right ahead. I don’t think anything will get through that thick skull of his, though.”

I smiled at her. “If he won’t listen to words, I’ll just have to beat the stuffing out of him.” I then headed off to the Bannered Mare to find me a bard. Mikael was warbling out some tune or other, playing his lute, so I waited until he was done to pull him off to one side. The look he gave me told me exactly what he was thinking. “You really ought to leave Carlotta alone,” I said quietly.

He tossed his hair back and said, “I’m sorry, but that fiery widow is mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

“I don’t think you understand who you’re dealing with, friend,” I replied softly, intently. “Your harassment of Carlotta _will_ stop.”

Maybe it was because I had pulled him aside so nobody was listening in. Maybe it was something he saw in my expression. But after a few moments he sighed and said, “Maybe you’re right. I guess I just didn’t want anyone to think I couldn’t handle one lass. On my honor, I won’t bother Carlotta ever again.”

I nodded. “Thank you. I know about you Nords and your honor, so I expect I won’t hear anything about this again. But should I, know that I will relieve you of your manhood with the dullest blade I can find. Or fire. I’ve always liked fire.” I wandered off muttering, “Maybe a paralyzation spell and an ice spike would work, too. . . .” It was pissing rain when I went back outside.

“Really?” Carlotta said, brows up in disbelief. “You convinced that lute player to stop chasing me? I’d thank the gods, but I’ll settle for thanking you. Here’s some coin for your help.”

I thanked her and took the pouch, knowing I would just donate it to the temple, and decided to chop some wood for Hulda. She was always pleased when someone lent a hand for that sort of thing. Sigurd from Belethor’s wasn’t hogging the damn pile so it was simple enough. I knew there was another one around town somewhere, but I’d be damned if I could remember where. Hulda was appreciative and handed over a little coin as well, also destined for the temple.

I dropped the money off before heading back home for the remainder of the day.


	30. 9.2 Interlude

29052015

## 9.2

###### Rain’s Hand, 14th, 4E 202

Talked to Uthgerd at the Bannered Mare. She was both boasting and complaining. After I inquired she said, “You been talking to those Companions? ‘Too hot-headed’, they cried. Weak, pathetic cowards, the lot of them!”

Right. “Why did the Companions reject you?”

“It wasn’t my fault! I told them over and over that it was an accident! They wanted me to prove my worth, so they threw me up against a young whelp of a lad, hardly old enough to grow his first chin-hairs. I guess they thought a woman wasn’t strong enough to hurt him.”

‘Oh gods, don’t ever let Aela hear you say something like that. Or Ria. Or Njada.’

“I didn’t mean for him to die! Why would I want that? I just . . . I just lost control,” she finished, sounding, well, not exactly ashamed, but almost sulky.

I nodded. Sounded to me like she was a berserker, and not someone I’d trust at my back in a battle, not that I would be willing—generally speaking—to haul a heavy armor-wearing blade wielder around. Still, I was curious, so I said, “Think you can take me on?”

“And why not?” she said confidently. “I could beat anyone in this city, bare-handed. A hundred gold says I knock your hide to the ground.”

Naturally, I beat the stuffing out of her. She took it really well, though, and I got to have some fun. After that I headed back out with a mind to perhaps visit Farkas and happened to notice Danica sitting on a bench at the Gildergreen. I’d heard her lamenting over that damn tree often enough, so I finally stopped and asked her what the deal was.

“The Gildergreen, yes,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder. “It’s a bit of an eyesore at the moment. More of a problem for the pilgrims than for me, but not many of them are around anymore.”

It was a tree. “What’s so special about it?”

“To the east of here is a hidden grove where the Eldergleam resides. It’s the oldest living thing in Skyrim. Maybe in all of Tamriel. Our tree here in the city was grown from a cutting of that tree. You can still feel the glory of the mother tree through it. Even its name is an echo.”

Okay, it was the baby of an ancient tree. “And is there no way to revive it?”

“I’ve thought about that. . . . Trees like this never really die. They only slumber. I think if we had some of the sap from the parent tree, we could wake up its child. But even if you could get to the Eldergleam, you couldn’t tap it. Not with any normal metal.”

‘Then how did anyone get a cutting of it in the first place?’ I wondered.

She then went on to speak of a blade called Nettlebane, and I agreed to go fetch it, if only to stop having to see her moping around outside when she should be enjoying her breaks from healing in the temple.

I stopped in with Farengar to sell a few things, pick up a few spell tomes, and then I checked with Avenicci for any bounties. He gave me one for the bandit leader at Valtheim Towers. Gods above, bandits did love that place, so the target of the bounty was of no surprise to me.

It was . . . kind of sad, really. Not all of the damage done during the assault on Whiterun had been repaired. One of the homes was inaccessible and the trellises around the Gildergreen were tilted or still resting on the ground. And I realized, Heimskr wasn’t out there preaching and his house had been badly damaged. I think he might have died that night. Sad, too, since he was a staunch Talos worshiper, but the Stormcloak attack . . . well.

Farther along, closer to the gates, I saw Lydia. She was being just as rude to the non-Nords as ever. Sure, she toned it down some for her Thane (who might well have been a short Nord for all she knew), but for a random Breton in town? Oh, no, full speed ahead with the disdain. She was lucky I didn’t send her off to the afterlife early.

It was a leisurely walk to the bandits, picking flowers and exchanging greetings with the guards out and about on patrol. They seemed a lot less tense now that the overt threat posed by Ulfric was gone. Dragons were a cause for panic, but they knew those could be killed, so. . . .

I detoured to a cave I’d passed a thousand times. Found a note on one of the bandits outside; he was in no shape to object to me rifling through his pockets. Someone, quite possibly the same bandit, liked to play tricks on people, including some watchman. But the way it read almost made it seem as though the watchman could no longer see.

But since it was bandits and bandits should generally be eradicated, I went inside. The first thing I saw was a long passageway with a desk and chair fairly near the entrance. An old man was sitting there. I attempted to sneak up on him for a snack, but he had excellent hearing. Well, he also made for an excellent meal. The rest of the place almost wasn’t worth the effort. They had to be new to banditry because they had next to no gold and all of them went down so quickly . . . wow.

Found another cave along the way, but it just had some dead bandits and some trolls. Barely worth mentioning.

I finally got to the tower, little harmless me, picking flowers along the way. But what was that? The bandits were all shooting arrows at something. I got closer and realized—a mudcrab in the river? Seriously?

The terms of the bounty only obligated me to kill the leader, but I got them all, even though I did have to drop my summon in some very odd places due to them going after that mudcrab like a bunch of crazed skeevers.

Some time later, as I was making my way toward where Amren said that sword was, a dragon came out of nowhere and toasted a bunch of Thalmor (such a tragedy) and then attacked me. Thankfully it was well after dark by that point so I could handle the problem, absorb the soul, and get well away before anyone in the area could investigate and realize they weren’t seeing the Dragonborn.

The camp Amren spoke of was actually all the way back toward Whiterun and to the northeast, roughly. There were four bandits outside and the only one who put up a decent fight was the mage. I could not find the sword, however, so I was obviously missing something. ‘Yeah,’ I thought, ‘like that damn mine entrance over there, or what looks to be one.’

It was. I was shocked to realize, while I was otherwise occupied with seeing just how well the bandits down there could burn, that they had somehow managed to get a mammoth in there. Was there some secret spell I was unaware of that temporarily shrank things? I of course used my trusty pick on all the delicious ore veins, stripped down the mammoth and looted all the tusks from the place, and headed on out.

###### Rain’s Hand, 15th, 4E 202

Found that giant camp with the strange purple tree again. I had obviously roamed a bit farther than I had intended. But as I noticed a cave there, I ducked inside. Sneaked by a giant in there and looted its chest, then investigated a dead orc. He had a note from Ysolda of Whiterun. It was . . . intriguing. Apparently Ysolda was a drug pusher. I would have to speak with her when I got back.

There was a giant stomping after me as I hastened off. Dead giant, more like. I don’t generally like killing them, but if they were that persistent—oh, wait, no. He was just taking his mammoth for a walk. I rolled my eyes and sprinted a bit to get away from the constant ground shaking.

Stumbled into Rorikstead. I really needed to get a better sense of direction, stop cutting cross-country, and/or stop getting distracted by silly things like butterflies. There was a young man there (rather attractive, too—I wouldn’t say no to sneaking up behind him while he slept for a little nibble) by the name of Erik.

“You look like you’ve seen your share of adventure. I envy you that.”

I think I hurt myself trying so hard not to laugh.

“In fact, maybe you can help me with something.”

“Hm?”

“I want to be an adventurer like you, but my father says I can’t. He says he needs me to stay here and work the farm, and even if he did let me be an adventurer, we couldn’t afford to buy armor. His name’s Mralki, and he’s the innkeeper here. I hope you can change his mind.”

He _was_ tasty looking, so I asked more. “You lived here all your life?”

“My father was a soldier. He fought in the Great War and when it was over, he retired here to raise a family. My mother passed away when I just a babe, so he did his best to raise me on his own. It’s not the most exciting place in the world, but the people here work hard and don’t cause trouble for anyone.”

“The crops I’ve seen passing by seem to be thriving,” I remarked.

“It’s true. For as long as I can remember our crops have always done well. I’m not sure whether it’s the soil, the climate, or the favor of the Divines, but we’ve never had a poor harvest.”

I nodded. It could be any of those things. “I’ll . . . see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I can’t stand the thought of being trapped in this village for the rest of my days.”

So, I went over to the man behind the counter and said, “I would like to speak with you about Erik.”

“My son? What about him? Did something happen? Is he all right?”

I glanced over my shoulder; yes, Erik was still standing right there in plain sight. I had an overprotective mama bear on my hands, then. Well, papa bear. “Perhaps you should let your son choose the life he so badly wants.”

Mralki shook his head almost violently. “But the world is a dangerous place! Erik has no idea what he’s getting himself into. What’s more, he’s got no armor. I’ll have to save up the money for it.”

‘ “I’ll have to”?’ I thought. ‘Not “I would have to”? Weird.’ I set my expression to somewhere between sympathetic and stern. “You’d prefer your son to grow bitter and resent you? There are dragons out there still, friend, and bandits, and thieves. No matter how much you try to keep him away from the world, the world will come looking at some point. Should he not know how to defend himself?”

The corners of his mouth drooped down unhappily. “I—I cannot deny the truth of what you say,” he admitted. “Erik is all the family that I have left, but it’s wrong to hold him back as I have. Go and tell Erik that I’ve changed my mind. I’ll see about borrowing some money in Whiterun for his armor.”

I gave him a smile and nodded. Of course, then I made the mistake of asking about any rumors of interest, and Mralki gossiped about Falion again. I swear, these Nords just love being all freaked out by magic. Back over by Erik I let him know the news.

“I can’t thank you enough, friend. I hope you’ll come back to Rorikstead soon and pay me a visit. Maybe we can swap stories about our adventures over a mug of ale at the inn!”

‘Some of the tamer ones, perhaps,’ I thought. I was very tempted to take Erik out myself, just so that he had someone, you know, competent nearby when he first ventured out into the uncertain world and blooded himself. But, until he had armor that would be a fool’s game. Perhaps later down the road.

There were more of those intense fellows from Hammerfell at the inn. Finally decided to ask them what the damn fuss was about. “She sold the city out to the Aldmeri Dominion,” the taller one said. “Were it not for her betrayal, Taneth could have held its ground in the war. The other noble houses discovered her betrayal and she fled. They want her brought back alive. The resistance against the Dominion is alive and well in Hammerfell, and they want justice.”

Well now. I couldn’t sense any hint of deception, but I’d have to give the woman a look-see before I decided. I was fairly certain it was that Redguard at the Bannered Mare. She had the “scar”, or what I assumed was it.

I figured I would make my way back to Whiterun, but I’d swing by Orphan Rock first, even though it meant going down by Helgen. Blech. On a side note, Lemkil, a farmer there in Rorikstead, was a very bitter man. His wife had died years ago, leaving him with two girls. He was bitter and hated the kids, and the eldest daughter liked to bully the younger one relentlessly. Sad. But I wasn’t about to off the father just so the kids could be sent to Riften and have to suffer the dubious affections of Grelod the Kind.

Along the way I summoned Arniel for a fight with some fauna. He seemed to prefer shock spells, but yeah, he sounded like a Dead Thrall. A sad end for a nervous and sad man.

Saw an ore vein and went for it. Got attacked by a necromancer and her raised servant for my troubles. Got the ore, of course. And then I was passing through Falkreath, which I had not intended. I seemed to recall that forever ago a courier had brought me a message from the Jarl there. I supposed I could stop in and see what he wanted, if indeed he still wanted whatever it was, except that I honestly didn’t care to. Not then, anyway.

The fog was just awful. I came at Helgen from the mountain, which made it harder to just sneak around it. Ended up in one of the towers in pursuit of one of the bandits who had taken over the place. Not good memories being in that ruinous place. I didn’t see the point in entering the keep itself. If the bandits in there were so deep in their cups as to not hear the utter ruckus outside, well. . . . I hated Helgen, and I’d rather not relive any more of it than I had to.

I . . . happened to look up at the moon, Masser, from Orphan Rock and just stared. Four or more dragons up there, flying around, weaving back and forth between the pink-red of Masser and the indigo-black of the sky. It made me feel kind of hollow. And joyous.

Headed north and cut through a ruin I’d gone through during my Destruction Mastery quest. Worked my way down the mountainside and dropped into Riverwood in time to be embarrassed for Brynjolf’s sake by a very inept thief being caught and killed on the road through town. I decided to get some rest—it wasn’t like Delphine was there any longer, so I needn’t worry about seeing her and erupting in fury, even if she wouldn’t have recognized me. I kept meaning to at least check in on them, but. . . .

###### Rain’s Hand, 16th, 4E 202

It was not long after midnight and plenty of people were still awake at the inn, Hadvar amongst them. I was glad to see he was still alive, and pleased that he also didn’t recognize me. Perhaps it took a thief of quality to spy those similarities.

Before I could bespeak a room I was waylaid by the bard, Sven. “Faendal thinks he can woo Camilla Valerius away from me,” he confided to me. “She’s already mine, I keep telling him.” He mistook my blank look for interest and continued, “She knows I’m the best man in Riverwood. That elf is kidding himself if he thinks she would choose him over me.”

‘And maybe she’s not a racist skeever like you.’

“I’ve seen him sneaking over to the Riverwood Trader to speak with her when I’m not around. He’s wasting his time.”

I nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. Two people spending time together never blossoms into courtship.”

“Is that sarcasm?” he said with a frown—I was surprised he even knew what sarcasm was. “I’ve heard better wisecracks from Orgnar. Still, you have a point. Camilla letting Faendal visit her isn’t a good thing for me. Here,” he said, fetching something from his pocket and practically pushing it into my hand. “Let me give you a particularly venomous letter. Say it’s from Faendal. That should get Camilla to stop inviting the elf over.”

Oh, I would deliver the letter, but I would be honest with her about the circumstances surrounding it. Using that kind of tactic to get the lady you wanted? Such malicious and vulgar dishonesty? No.

Orgnar was happy to confide in me that, “We’ve got something of a love triangle here in Riverwood. Faendal and Sven, both vying for Camilla’s affections.” But then he succeeded in annoying me by saying, “Nobody trusts those mages, way up north in their College. Gods only know what they do up there.”

‘We hold secret parties in the Middens and take turns summoning Dremora to sacrifice sweet rolls and jazbay crostatas to,’ I thought. ‘Those Dremora have a fierce sweet tooth.’ I would actually say that to the man, but I just knew it’d come back to bite me on the ass later on. As I turned away from him to head to my room I noticed my Dremora Lord had somehow acquired a tankard of something and was dancing around in a goofy sort of way to whatever it was Sven was singing. I found myself to be a little stunned at that.

After some sleep I headed on over the see Camilla. She and her brother were having some kind of argument when I walked into the shop, but I confess I was distracted by the two thieves running around their shop-cum-home in full Thieves Guild gear. Once I stopped wondering if those two were fronting an independent thieving ring I moved to speak to Camilla. She was suitably disgusted with Sven’s behavior and thanked me for my intervention. She did ask me to speak briefly with Faendal, so I got that out of the way before leaving town.

In Whiterun a bit later I ran into Amren on the way to see Danica and handed over his sword. He taught me one of his father’s techniques, board and sword. Whatever. Danica, as expected, asked me to retrieve the sap for her because she didn’t want to touch Nettlebane. ‘But it’s okay for me to tainted, is that it?’

After she wandered off to presumably heal one of the patients in there an Imperial quick-stepped over to me. “Was I correct in hearing that you were traveling to the grove of the Eldergleam?”

And I thought I was nosy. “Can I help you?”

“I am a traveler. A pilgrim. I follow the voice of Kynareth wherever it can be heard. I’ve dreamed of seeing Eldergleam for years. Might I travel alongside you? I promise not to get in the way.”

‘Oh, why not. At least he’s an Imperial. Odds are I won’t have to hear racist comments or listen to him rabbit on about how mages are all Oblivion-bent milk-drinking cowards.’ “Sure.”

“I thank you for your kindness.”

Well now. He was obviously an educated man and not from the lower classes, not with that kind of diction. He tagged along as I headed up to Dragonsreach to turn in the bounty. Avenicci paid me a whole one hundred septims. I was overwhelmed with gratitude.

Farengar was eating so I declined to pester him.

At the Bannered Mare I asked the Imperial fellow—Maurice, I think his name was—to wait while I took care of something real quick, then wandered into the kitchen area to speak with the Redguard woman. She led me upstairs to her little room and pulled a dagger on me. I just gave her an unimpressed stare and mentioned the Alik’r warriors after her.

I carefully took note of her reaction, her scent, her words, and her manner as she explained her side of the story. She was shifty, uneasy, and not because people were after her. That meant she was lying to me. I decided to err on the side of the Alik’r and told her I had seen a number of them outside the city and it was obvious they had discovered her location.

“What? How? I thought they weren’t allowed within the city!”

I shrugged and smiled crookedly, kind of sadly. “There are ways into this city that aren’t the main gates,” I pointed out. “You should probably get out of here.”

“But where will I go?” she protested. “I can’t keep running forever!”

“It’s obvious that you desperately need some help, so let me go scout out where precisely they are and see about giving you a way to flee that isn’t just on foot. There’s no point in haring off wildly. But keep yourself out of sight as much as possible in case they get in before I return.”

She seemed fine with that so I returned downstairs and collected Maurice. It wasn’t until I was a ways on that I remembered I had forgotten to speak with Ysolda about that note, but I could do that when I got back.

Valtheim Towers showed evidence of a fresh infestation of bandits. I had only just cleared the place out, it seemed! Maurice cowered behind a damn rock while I took care of it. Farther along I was pleased to see Imperial Legion banners flying from a fort up ahead, telling me ahead of time I would not be having to fend off more bandits.

Maurice seemed a little shocked by the bathers at the hot springs, but. . . . pfft.

I was extremely unhappy to realize that the only way up to the tree itself was by threatening the root system with Nettlebane—even with how high and how well I could jump I could not get past the massive roots without brandishing Nettlebane.

I had just made it to the top when Maurice snapped out of whatever fantasy he was enjoying simply by being at the Eldergleam Sanctuary and rushed over to me. “I had no idea you were a woman of violence,” he said, aghast. “What exactly are you intending to do here?”

I rolled my eyes. “Were you sleeping during all those fights I had to deal with to get us here? I’m sure those rock formations you kept staring at on the way were absolutely fascinating, but really. As for what I intend to do, I’m not actually sure. I happen to like Kynareth, so the idea of doing what Danica wants is more than a little blasphemous and unsettling.”

“What is it she wants?” he asked, frowning.

“She wants sap from the Eldergleam to fix the Gildergreen.”

“That’s abominable. Barbaric. I’ll have no part of that.”

‘Nobody asked you to.’ “I am open to suggestions. Do you have any ideas as to how to approach this issue?”

“Well . . . yes. There is something. It won’t repair the tree back at the temple, but we could bring them a new one.”

“How so?”

“Follow me,” he said. “I think I can convince the tree to help us.”

Well all right, then. I trailed behind as he approached the tree. He knelt down and started praying. I was more than a little shocked at the result. Perhaps I should have tried prayer to get past the roots?

“The Eldergleam has blessed us with a sapling.”

‘The Eldergleam? Or Kynareth?’

“You should take it to Whiterun. Danica will want to see that the true blessings of nature lie in renewal, not a slavish maintenance.”

“An interesting way to look at it,” I said with a nod, then carefully picked up the sapling. “Thank you for finding a much more palatable solution.”

“It was my pleasure, friend. In a way, I envy you getting to carry such a direct sign of Kynareth's graces. Good luck on your travels. May Kynareth’s wind carry only the sweetest scents.”

Right. I could only take so much flowery talk. I gave him a smile and hastened off. It was tempting to swim out into the Sea of Ghosts and drop the damn dagger. Imagine if Danica had asked a Bosmer to do this task?

Night had fallen while we were inside—Maurice stayed, actually—which was fine. If a dragon attacked I’d rather not have people see me clearly, and there was one on a peak in the hot springs area.

###### Rain’s Hand, 17th, 4E 202

I managed to run down some of those Alik’r warriors on my way back and told them what I intended to do regarding the fugitive. They assured me they would be ready for me to bring her out that day.

With that done I hurried home, got some rest, and went back into Whiterun. Ysolda spun an interesting story that didn’t entirely jibe with the note I’d found, but. . . . I declined to sell her any of the sap I’d looted from the place. It was all edging into territory I wasn’t at all thrilled about. If her supplier was dead, maybe that’d be the end of it. Or maybe she’d find some other brave fool to make the runs for her.

On my way to Danica a guard confided that, “I caught a glimpse of that captured dragon. It was . . . beautiful. In its own way.”

Danica seemed a bit impatient when she said, “Do you have the Eldergleam sap?”

I raised my brows at the tone and said, “No. I have a sapling.”

“But. . . . I can’t run the Temple without the support of the people who are inspired by the Gildergreen. How can this little tree bring new worshipers?”

I eyed her sadly. “For one thing, I donate to the Temple in every town I visit. Having a mighty Gildergreen isn’t the only reason people donate. For another, Maurice, the man responsible for getting this sapling without any violence, wanted me to pass on a message to you. He said: Renewal is more important than maintenance.”

She looked shamed. “I—you’re right, of course. It can be hard to hear the winds of Kynareth when all you hear are the rabble in the temple.”

‘Well now. Maybe if you stopped thinking of them as a disorderly mob of commoners rather than worshipers. . . .’

“Death feeds new life,” she added. “I’m sure that, in time, this little sapling will grow into a new Gildergreen that will tower over Whiterun. Thank you.”

I left it at that. It really wasn’t my place to lecture people on their idiocy. That Redguard lady was next. I told her I had a horse waiting for her. That I had rarely seen any Alik’r down by Riverwood and that area, so perhaps she could head for the pass and into Cyrodiil.

“After all this, I have to pick up and leave again?” she said unhappily. “If you really think this is the only way, I trust you. Let’s not waste any time.”

Down at the stables the leader of those Alik’r was waiting, hidden by the wall of the house there next to the stables themselves. As soon as he saw the woman he sent out a paralyzation spell at her. “We meet at last, my dear lady,” he said, staring into her panicked eyes. “You didn’t really expect to manipulate people forever, did you? Your luck had to run out sometime.”

To me he said, “Now, we’ll take our friend here back to Hammerfell, where she will pay the price for her treason. 

“I sincerely trust she won’t be harmed on that journey,” I pressed.

“Not on the way back. Once she gets there, it’s not up to me to decide what’s done with her. And as for you, I owe you a portion of the reward, don’t I? Well, here you go. Spend it wisely, and if I may. . . . Don’t allow yourself to be fooled by a pretty face. You’re better than that.”

As I watched him haul off his bounty I scowled. What in Oblivion was that supposed to have meant? If I’d been fooled by a pretty face—and she _was_ pretty—I’d not have lured her to be captured. On the other hand, it had paid well.

I took care of any number of tasks at Elysium before I decided, on a whim, to pack up my collection of Dragon Priest masks and check out that weird place at Labyrinthian. The little structure seemed ready-made to place all of them, but I admitted I had only poked my nose in briefly as I’d had more pressing things to do usually when I cut through the area. I was curious to see what would happen, if anything, and if I lost them, well, they were just decorating the place anyway.

###### Rain’s Hand, 18th, 4E 202

Standing there, paying attention—that display? There was a wooden mask on the ground, a skeleton, and a note, part of which read: “He’s put on that mask and vanished.” And then: “Well, after a while we didn’t know what to do, and Groz picks her gear up to head home, when he poofs back, that mask in his hand.”

The mercenaries were entirely too creeped out by the man poofing in and out with that mask and promised to put a dagger through his chest if he showed up again before they took off at sunrise. Considering that there was a skeleton, I’d say they killed him.

So, I picked up the mask and wore it. It was like . . . going back in time. There were chests, urns, and the place looked almost new. But the door out was blocked. The mask display was unharmed, also like new, so I fetched out my mask collection and starting putting them in place. Placement of the final one caused the dragon head at the center to lift up and reveal another mask. I retrieved it, plus the ones I’d brought, and prayed that removing the wooden mask would return me to whence I came.

It did.

I was almost back to Elysium, nearly at the very walls, when two sabre cats attacked. And when they were dead I saw four bandits strolling by, easy as you please. Then they saw me and the game was on. Honestly. The guards over at the watchtower didn’t even bother to help.

I decided, after seeing Valdimar look so miserable when he didn’t realize I was eyeing him, that I’d take him with me. To that end I went down into the cellar and crafted him some much better armor than he had, along with a sword and bow. I didn’t actually know if he’d use the bow, but it was more of a “just in case”.

He looked really nice when I was done!

Decided to take him to find Red Eagle’s Sword, something I had read about ages and ages ago. Spotted a Thalmor patrol on the road, so I paused. Valdimar already knew I was unfond of them so he didn’t bother to question it.

We made it to Old Hroldan Inn before sunset so I got us rooms. It was very quiet there, just as it was previously, so we sat companionably at one of the tables. I mostly played with my food as he ate. Eventually he worked himself up to comment on my summon.

I took that to mean he questioned why have him along if I used a summon, so I replied, “Yeah, he’s all right. I’m still working on my Conjuration so I keep summoning him any time a new hostile approaches. He’s odd, though. I caught him dancing to a bard’s tunes not too long ago. I had no idea Dremora liked music.”


	31. 9.3 Interlude

29052015-30052015

## 9.3

###### Rain’s Hand, 19th, 4E 202

After spending the night in Tiber Septim’s room (thankfully there was that single bed, as well, for Valdimar) I bought more food before leaving. Gave all of it to Valdimar. He looked a little confused but . . . that could wait. Outside I produced a blood potion and drank it down to appease my growing hunger. He gave me a sideways look, but stayed silent.

Found a campsite on the way to where the sword ought to be. A bear, a dead male Dunmer, a dead woman from Markarth. . . . Well now. They wouldn’t be needing that stash of coin in the rotting tree trunk any, so I took it.

Next encountered was a small house and a mine. Perth, the fellow there, warned us off the place because they’d dug into an old crypt and the place was swarming with draugr. I told him I’d take care of it. He seemed more than skeptical of my claim. “You’re joking, right? Those bone-walkers will tear you limb from limb. But if you want to get yourself killed, go ahead.”

I could have sworn I’d been there before. It all looked so familiar. I glanced at the hole, at Valdimar, and when he shrugged and nodded I jumped in. And no wonder the miners were so frightened. There were Deathlords galore down there. I let Perth know it was fine once we were done and headed on.

But as I came over a slight rise and looked down I saw Karthspire, which meant Sky Haven Temple. Well, I was in the area. . . . I should at least check. But—I had Valdimar with me, so I let him know what we were in for. Was he game, or. . . ? He seemed weirded out by the question and indicated that we should get on with it.

We made it through without too much damage and got to Sky Haven Temple, but I wasn’t prepared to see what I did. Delphine and Esbern had been recruiting.

And every last one of them was dead, massacred by the Forsworn. The entrance was still opened up from when I had unlocked the blood seal. The doors weren’t barred. While I imagined they had cleared out Karthspire every so often. . . . Well, word must have gotten around, and either the Forsworn came in force to deal with the interlopers, or the Thalmor put two and two together and Elenwen, having been at the truce council, had come up with five.

I couldn’t stay there, looking at any of it, and there was nowhere to bury what was left. So I incinerated the bodies so they couldn’t be used by necromancers.

Then we left.

We found the blade after clearing out yet more Forsworn. The Reach was just—yeah, I was Breton, so I had some sympathy for them, but at the same time they attacked _everyone_ indiscriminately, and that was hard to resolve.

The place we needed to go was mentioned in a book I found, so off we went. It was . . . disturbingly familiar, the place. Perhaps I had stumbled into it at some earlier point with Erandur? I put the sword into its intended socket and watched as a “secret” door opened up ahead.

It was more of the usual, including a fairly good-sized room at the end. “This looks a lot like a bunch of draugr and skeletons might wake up. Be ready for them,” I warned, then strode on in. It turned out to be just a single draugr and a crowd of skeletons—I wondered, was there some kind of group name for that? Like a “flock” of birds or “herd” of horses, but for the undead?

I think Valdimar was surprised at how little I was taking for loot. “I’m comfortable,” I said. “Take anything you want from here. It’s not like you haven’t earned it.”

On the way out I reclaimed the blade for my ever-growing collection.

I considered going to Windhelm to speak with that guy about the East Empire Company. I couldn’t even remember who had pointed me that way or why, but I had a note about it in my journal.

But then, we saw up ahead four Forsworn wailing on a Legionnaire. We did not get there in time to save the man’s life. I decided to head to Markarth to see what the hell was going on.

Just as soon as I found a road.

And then I said, after we were attacked at a fort along the road, and after Valdimar dashed inside to pursue every last stinking Forsworn—and I had to follow—“Would you _please_ at least _warn_ me before you rush off to go be a damn Nord?”

It was late when we arrived at Markarth. I asked Valdimar if he’d ever been and he said no, so I warned him about their excuses for bed, then led the way to the Silver-Blood Inn to get rooms. I also handed Valdimar a pouch of coin to buy whatever food he wanted. Had some fun with a drunk sitting at the bar. We were buddies after I gave him some mead, but then he wanted to brawl, so I obliged him and, naturally, won.

But afterward, once I had my winnings, I went over to Valdimar and said, “You’re supposed to root for me, not the other guy. I distinctly heard you, _twice_ , tell Cosnach not to let me get away with this.”

He blushed and looked away. “Ah. . . .”

“Uh huh. Don’t do it again. If you root for the other side, what does that say about your faith in your Thane?”

###### Rain’s Hand, 20th, 4E 202

Eltrys was hanging around in the Temple of Talos. Gods knew why considering it’d been months since he handed me that note. Obviously nobody else could be bothered. “I’m sorry to drag you into Markarth’s problems,” he said, “but after that attack in the market, I’m running out of time. You’re an outsider. You’re dangerous looking. You’ll do.”

Well now. At least someone thought I looked dangerous.

He explained the situation and promised to pay for any information I could bring him. My first thought was to see if that woman who had been attacked was still at the inn. She was, surprisingly enough, as a spy for General Tullius, sent to investigate the Treasury House and the Silver-Blood family. She accused Thonar Silver-Blood as being the one behind the attack on her life.

I decided that I would report that, but alter the wording such that her position was not disclosed. News obviously got around fast as a guard said to me, after I exited the inn, “You. I’ve seen you snooping around. Asking questions. Back off. You don’t want to know what happens to troublemakers here.”

Well now. True, going into a Temple of Talos openly was not the smartest thing to be doing (which said a lot about Eltrys, actually), but. . . . After reporting in, and back outside and on my way to the Warrens I was told by a different guard, “You’ve been warned, outsider.”

Admittedly, it was somewhat tempting to do as they said and back off. But I had always been stubborn. I went off down to the Warrens to find where the attacker had lived. There was a note in his ruinous excuse for a room that pointed me to an “N”. 

On exiting the Warrens I was threatened. When I failed to back down and scurry off like a little mouse, he came at me with his fists. I beat the stuffing out of him and got him to talk. The bully boy pointed me at a “Nepos the Nose.” Gods above, what a stupid name. Did that mean he had a large nose? That he was nosy? What?

Then I eyed Valdimar. “Again? Really? You root for the wrong person?” I shook my head and went off to check out the Treasury House. I had Valdimar wait outside while I went in. I did my very first spot of thieving and stole a journal right out of Thonar Silver-Blood’s pocket without him or anyone else seeming to notice.

> #### Madanach is becoming unruly. You’d think that 20 years in prison would calm a beast like him down a bit. Maybe I should have let the Jarl execute him after the uprising after all.

> Still, he’s been invaluable in getting rid of several “problems” over the years. Maybe I’m overreacting. No one knows about our little arrangement. Not even the Forsworn. I wonder how they would react knowing their “King in Rags” was one of my most important assets?

> This little shadow rebellion of his better not start to include me, though. If I find out he’s even thinking about double-crossing me, I’ll make sure he dies inside Cidhna Mine, like the animal he is.

Outside I heard, “This is your last warning, outsider. We keep the peace, here. Stay out of our business.”

Were I not so damn stubborn that would have been my clue to just leave. As it was—Eltrys was dead at the hands of Markarth guards and I was being blamed for not only his death but for “all these recent murders”.

I did not want Valdimar to be any more endangered than he was, so I let them take me away, to Cidhna Mine. I had every expectation I could find a way out and retrieve my gear, even if it meant I could never return to Markarth. I let them bundle all my gear into a chest and put on the rags they gave me. But inside, beyond the gate into the mine itself, it all went funny.

I dropped off the side of the walkway in my usual fashion, but I neglected to look down first. Landed on the handle of a carelessly discarded pickaxe. It went flying and nailed a fellow sitting aside a fire a short distance away. He jumped up, bellowed in anger, and the next thing I knew I had about every prisoner in there out for my blood. I even saw one of them knocking back what looked like skooma, so I discarded the idea of reason and obliterated them.

And I never even used any Shouts.

Truly, I was furious at being attacked over such a stupid event. I looted the cooling corpses and went over to unlock the door leading to this Madanach fellow, the “King in Rags”, and fried him as well. Looted him and took the key to the way out.

It led through an unused Dwemer area. And then to a little alley of sorts in the city. I supposed I wasn’t exactly subtle once I got going. After all, the guards up top on the other side of the gate were still there and alive. Thonar was waiting for me when I emerged.

“My eyes inside Cidhna Mine tell me that Madanach is dead. You’ve done a great service to the Silver-Blood family. I’ve had the Jarl officially pardon you, and taken care of a few other loose ends.”

Really now.

“You’re as innocent as anyone can be in this city,” he said.

I nearly snorted. I wasn’t the one using something of a deposed king to execute others in a roundabout manner.

“I guess we also owe you something for locking you up. Here, my family’s ring. And everything the guards confiscated from you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a mine that needs new workers to fill it. The Silver-Bloods pay their debts. You have my thanks.”

The second he walked away I hastened to get properly geared up. I had done just fine in the mine without my enchantments, but I sorely missed them. Even so, Thonar came across to me as being just as addle-brained as far too many other Nords. I didn’t understand half of what he meant. What debt? What service? I killed his puppet.

In point of fact, I recalled that Ulfric had been in possession of the city for a span of time and wondered why he had left the mine alone—or at least the inhabitants. I shrugged, made sure I wasn’t leaving anything behind, then went off to find Valdimar before heading to Understone Keep to verify that the Jarl wasn’t going to have me arrested again. Because if another guard tried to come at me I would, that time, fight and flee the city.

Either way, the King in Rags was dead. It wouldn’t stop the Forsworn outside the city, the news of his death, but it had put an end to their king being used the way he had. Still, it would have been more satisfying to wipe out the Silver-Blood family.

The Jarl’s housecarl was very aggressive when I approached, her blade out. “You. Who are you to approach the Jarl of Markarth?” she demanded.

I lied and said I was there to inquire about purchasing a home in their fine city.

Jarl Igmund did thank me and he did confirm I was free. Then he mentioned a shield the Forsworn had made off with. . . . It was, apparently, back at that area with Bard’s Leap. “I warn you, it’s dangerous work. No man of mine has ever faced a hagraven and lived. I’ll understand if you decline.”

I bit the inside of my cheek for a moment. The Jarl’s men sucked if they couldn’t even handle a hagraven. “It’s fine,” I said. “I can retrieve it for you.”

“Divines watch over you,” he said in response.

On my way out of town one of the market stall owners commented, “Can’t believe anyone was dumb enough to mistake you for a Forsworn agent.”

Valdimar and I jogged there mostly along the main road, then fought our way through the Forsworn, up to the hagraven area, and then took out two of those plus a briarheart they had just finished making. I located and secured the shield, then decided to take the shortcut back and jumped off Bard’s Leap again.

I really don’t think Valdimar appreciated that one bit.

###### Rain’s Hand, 21st, 4E 202

We made it back to Markarth around midnight. Went back to the inn, the rooms, and I shoved more gold at Valdimar for his meal. Got to the Jarl more or less bright and early to return the shield to him, and then he started making noises about me being a Thane, buying a house. . . .

Jarls seemed to throw that title around like sweets at anyone who came across as even halfway competent, it seemed. I held back a sigh or a roll of my eyes and briefly spoke with his steward. I threw fifteen thousand septims at him and got the keys and deed to Vlindrel Hall, fully furnished.

Jarl Igmund then named me Thane, because I already met the requirements. I politely showed gratitude and departed, seeing in my peripheral vision the runner the steward had probably sent to warn my new housecarl.

Since I was already in Understone Keep I went off to visit Calcelmo. See if he had any decent spell books on him. He didn’t. But, to kill some time I agreed to go kill a spider for him, a “Nimhe”. In return for me agreeing to this he gave me the key to the excavation site and would to his little Dwemer Museum on the other side of the keep.

There were way too many people who turned into “milk drinkers” when they saw that many eyes all on the same creature. Yet they would face down a dragon with more ease. Honestly.

I, uh, didn’t think Valdimar was all that appreciative of when I’d drop down sheer heights to save time. I was aiming for the top of a pillar, and missed, in actuality, but it wasn’t as though I was in any way harmed.

Nimhe was ridiculously easy to kill. Valdimar didn’t even have time to get into the room and it was dead between me and the summon. But up a short flight of stairs I could see a way blocked off by webbing and a dead Legionnaire. He had a note, which told me that there were more people still in there, behind those doors, and likely dead.

‘For the love of Mara!’ Valdimar had charged on ahead when he saw Falmer, slipped on some goo, and fell over the side and down a level. Took him a minute to get his brain working again, and by then they were all dead.

During our explorations we ran across a tree that strongly reminded me of the Gildergreen, or maybe the Eldergleam. “Are we in a little park or something?” I muttered.

There was a corpse there, one of the researchers, a fellow named Stromm. I collected anything of interest—his journal, for one—and continued on looking. At least I had some idea of how many people I was aiming to find. On and on, through more Dwemer construction and architecture, we found Erj, Krag, and Staubin, all dead.

Someone had turned off the automated defense system in the ruin, which had allowed the Falmer to get more of a foothold than usual. I turned it back on. The Dwemer constructs would _stay_ inside the ruins, but the Falmer would eventually begin to make forays into Markarth, and that would be bad.

Doing so unlocked the gate nearby (which I had found to be unpickable—and I wasn’t about to use a Shout while Valdimar was there), which we took. The path through there led to a dead-end with a chest at the end. The only way forward was to either backtrack or drop straight off the side of the walkway into the corridor below and out those doors. Valdimar would have kittens when I dropped off the edge, but whatever.

Through that door we ended up on a path jutting out from the natural side of the cavern. Off in the distance, on the path we had originally come by, was a bunch of automatons fighting with Falmer. I made for the exit. Unfortunately, a Falmer had sneaked in through behind us and stabbed Valdimar in the kidney, but he knocked back a potion and retaliated. He’s fine.

Calcelmo handed over a fair sum of gold—the pay the researchers would have been given—as well as the key to the Dwemer Museum. I figured by then enough time had passed for my new housecarl to be ready, so Valdimar and I threaded the maze that was Markarth and ended up at Vlindrel Hall.

‘Oh my,’ I thought on getting my first look at my new housecarl. ‘He is cute. Not quite as good looking as Valdimar, but he’s younger. Obviously a straight fighter, too.’ “Valdimar, you’re free for the rest of the day. Uh, here’s a key.” I handed one over. “We will head back tomorrow, so be prepared for that.”

He accepted the key with a, “Yes, my Thane,” and went off to do whatever.

“So, Argis, you said?”

“Yes, my Thane.”

“Heavy armor, obviously. Weapons?”

“One-handed swords, shield, bow.”

I nodded. “And are you at all used to working with mages?”

“Not yet, my Thane.”

“Well, you’ll get that chance. I ask that you try, as much as possible, to keep in mind where I might be,” I said, gesturing with my hands in a circle around my head at eye height, “so you don’t get in my line of fire. I very rarely use anything other than magic. Just occasionally a bow, but I’m not very good with them. Keep on with whatever you like for the rest of the day, but I would like you to come along in the morning.”

He nodded.

###### Rain’s Hand, 22nd, 4E 202

“You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered. Up ahead were three “Legionnaires”. The one closest to us was an Orsimer tricked out in heavy Legion armor. The one behind him wore the same, and the other fellow was wearing leather.

When I strolled on up the front man said, “You’re interfering with Imperial business. Yeah, so you’ll have to pay us a fine. Say, 100 gold. Pay up, citizen.”

I snorted in amusement. “I have yet to see an Orc in the Legion, so I’m damn sure you’re not.”

He growled and pulled off his helm. “Well in that case. You’ll have to hand over your life as well as your coin.”

I laughed gaily and summoned the second he went for his weapon, then started flinging fire.

We spoke of various things on the way back, and I kept an eye on both my housecarls, more Argis than Valdimar. When we did get to Elysium I dismissed Valdimar and led Argis down to the smithy and checked my supply of ebony, but not Daedra hearts—mainly because I didn’t think he would appreciate being decked out in Daedric—and got to work.

I crafted him a set of armor, a shield, a bow, and a sword. He asked me how I was even managing it. “Just practice,” I said. “I get bored easily, so, I do a lot of things.”

Once they were done—and I praised whoever was responsible for the forge because you could get work done much faster than seemed possible—I hauled everything over to my enchanting station and grabbed some filled Grand soul gems from the holders up above on the shelf. Argis didn’t use any magic so I added Fortify Health and Resist Magic to the armor.

“There you go. One custom-crafted and enchanted set of armor for you. And the other stuff. Unfortunately, I’ve not run across anything in even vaguely the same style as my armor for heavy, so. . . .”

He accepted everything with a nod of thanks and flat out stated, “So you’re a vampire.”

I hadn’t been wearing my hood while working because it was simply easier not to. Argis may have earned that “Bulwark” addition to his name for being tall and muscled and a wall in battle, but he was no dummy. He was also not as obsequious as Valdimar could be, or as chatty.

So I nodded. “You’re one of, uh—I think you’re the third person to figure that out? Valdimar doesn’t seem to know, but if he does he has never said a word.”

“Do you actually feed on people or do you use blood potions?” he then asked.

I was impressed at just how straightforward he was. “Both,” I replied. “Bandits are nice that way, always rushing up to volunteer, either to be fed on right then or be drained to make the potions.”

“And do you . . . partake of your household members?”

I eyed him, trying to figure out what that tone meant. “I have once,” I admitted, “a long time ago. But no, with that one exception, I don’t. It’s an abuse of power to sneak up on your people and snack on them without permission.” After a brief pause to see if he’d say more I continued, “So, let’s go back up and I’ll show you where you can bunk down when you’re here and not at Vlindrel or trudging all over creation.”

Upstairs I swept a hand around in the “barracks” room. “You can sleep in one of these. Valdimar has one picked out, but you’ll have to ask him which it is. There’s also a guest house out back with more beds if you wanted more privacy. The loft is off limits. A friend of mine stays there when she’s visiting; this is a second home to her. She’s . . . like me.” I arched a brow at him meaningfully. “Aside from that there’s a pool outside, too. For now, you’re free to do what you want, get settled in. This is your home away from Vlindrel Hall.”

I thought, in the morning, I’d go see what that business was in Windhelm. Couldn’t for the life of me remember why I’d noted it down, but. . . .

###### Rain’s Hand, 23rd, 4E 202

It was pissing rain outside. And, because I want to see how well Argis handled himself, more so than just the road between Markarth and Whiterun, we’d be walking to Windhelm. Ran into the usual sabre cats and wolves. Argis was fair with a bow. He didn’t immediately go flailing in with a blade, war cry on his lips. He’s just all quiet back there, taking aim, firing.

When we approached Valtheim Towers I was disgusted to see movement on the bridge spanning the river. More damn bandits. I swear they breed themselves in a cupboard or something, because every time I turn my back there are more of them infesting the place. My sight was much better than Argis’s—most normal people’s, really—so I could see the “toll taker” out front well before he could and set about incinerating her from a fair distance.

That caused the bandit chief and one of his lackeys to charge across the bridge and down the tower, while the others sniped at us from the bridge or the cliff across the way. Argis handled himself very well, though he did go all Nord on me and rushed into the tower and onto the bridge once the three outside were dead. Still, he used his bow at first, so he wasn’t entirely hot-headed like some other people I could mention.

At least it stopped raining.

Along the way I ran into another “old” Orc who wanted to die. Being the kindly person that I was I helped him on his way to wherever it was Orcs go, and continued along, sticking to the roads heading into the hot springs area. I could see a dragon flying around over there and just did not want to get into it, not without being in disguise, and not with someone not in the know with me.

Argis asked along the way if I wore the hood because of the sun. I said, “No, not really. I rather like the sun and it doesn’t damage me—I’m not the right kind of vampire for that to happen—but it’s awfully bright at times, especially when it glares off the snow.”

At least going to Windhelm wasn’t something to feel so much dread about any longer.

For some reason Argis got lost or distracted inside the city. I headed for the docks to find whoever it was fronting for the East Empire Company and was stopped by an Argonian dock worker.

“By the Hist, if I don’t get something soon, I don’t know how I’ll get through the week,” he said.

My mind flashed back to an earlier encounter, back in Riften, and I felt a little uneasy. Still, I asked. “Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not. I feel like my scales are clawing into me. Maybe you could help an old Argonian out? I heard of some sailors talking about how they stashed a bottle of Double-Distilled Skooma in the Gnisis Cornerclub. I just need a taste.”

Right. “Sorry, friend. That’s not something I can help you with,” I replied. The last time I stole something I ended up in prison, even if the theft wasn’t the actual reason for it.

His response? “Hist spit on you.”

I rolled my eyes and walked away. There were two more Argonians immediately visible so I stopped to talk to the next one. That one seemed right in the head so I asked, “Are you glad to see Ulfric Stormcloak gone?”

“You have no idea,” he said. “Did you know it was his decree that forbade the Argonians from living inside the city walls? I hope in his next life, he’s reborn as an Argonian forced to live in a slum because of some bigoted Nord dictator. I’m joking of course,” he added. “But I’m a lot happier seeing the Empire running things in Windhelm. Still, there is the problem of Torbjorn Shatter-Shield.”

“Oh?”

“I wish someone would beat the coin out of his fat fists. He clings to every septim. He says an Argonian’s labor is only worth a tenth of a ‘proper Nord worker’. My people are not slaves!”

“Well, I think I’ll go ‘talk’ to him,” I said.

“You can try,” he said skeptically, “but we’ve gotten nowhere talking to him ourselves.”

‘And you wouldn’t, being one of the Betmer.’

“May the earth beneath your feet always be soft,” he said in parting.

I smiled and headed for the office—or was it a warehouse?—I needed. Inside was, well. There was fog everywhere in there for some reason and the place was a shambles. The Imperial wandering around saw me and said, “I know this place looks horrible—please don’t hold it against the Company. We can’t afford to keep the place running since these attacks started. Pirates, you see. Raiding all along the coast, from Hammerfell to Vvardenfell. Only the Shatter-Shields appear safe. They run a private shipping operation, and would love to have the docks to themselves. Wouldn’t surprise me if they were in league with the pirates, somehow.”

“Do you . . . have any proof?” I ventured.

“Not yet, no. But perhaps an intrepid person such as yourself could help with that? They have a dark elf who oversees their operations. Suvaris Atheron.”

‘And yet they won’t pay the Argonians a decent wage.’

“She’s meticulous to a fault, and keeps a logbook with every transaction she makes. If it were to somehow end up in my hands, I wouldn’t argue.”

I decided that I wasn’t interested in yet another person asking me to steal and left without another word. Torbjorn turned out to be in Candlehearth, drinking away his woes at the bar. Or, as he said, “Our little girl died recently. I’ve been shouldering my days with a strong mead, but nothing gives my Tova peace. I’ve been looking for an Amulet of Arkay to remind my wife that our child is with the gods now, but I can’t find one.”

‘And you won’t at the bottom of a tankard, either.’ But I had one—picked it up on the way to Windhelm, actually—so I offered it to him. If nothing else the kind deed should soften him up for when I confronted him about the dock workers.

“Thank you,” he said. “I hope Arkay grants my wife some comfort. Here. I always pay my debts.”

The coin pouch he handed over felt pretty hefty—a later check revealed it had twelve hundred septims in it. I thanked him for it and then said, “You really ought to be paying the Argonians a fair wage.”

He scoffed, waving his tankard and spilling some of the mead inside onto the counter. “Those boots aren’t worth the septims I do pay them. I’m not giving them the coin I could give to good, Nord workers.”

He was grieving, so I decided to try persuasion first. “They’ll work harder if you pay them a fair wage. It’s only common sense.”

He stared at me for a moment, then said, “Bold words, but true. Fine, you win. I’ll pay the Argonians more coin.” I was about to thank him when he added, “Seeing a good tavern brawl might be just the thing to lift my spirits.”

Well now. Maybe I should have gone straight to intimidation. I was hoping he’d be recalcitrant and I’d get to beat the stuffing of him, but it was not meant to be. I let that Argonian know and then spoke to the other one, a female who was working at the tanning rack. At least she gave a name, Shahvee, which was an odd name for an Argonian. She was missing an amulet. It had been stolen almost as quickly as she’d bought it, but she did have some idea of where to look. It was a cave about halfway to Riften.

To save time I jumped into the river and swam across to land, rather than navigating the city again. Argis, in his heavy ebony armor, was not amused. A crazy Argonian mage attacked us on the way. Made for a convenient meal.

We were very close to Mzulft and I estimated it was approximately two hours to midnight, so I made the decision to spend the night in the store room outside the main ruin so that Argis could get some sleep.

###### Rain’s Hand, 24th, 4E 202

The area outside the cave was vaguely familiar. Inside was a narrow crevice with a stream running along it and gas in the air. Two people were patrolling up on ahead, so I launched fire at them. That ignited the gas and killed one of them instantly. The other one stumbled on over to us and died for his troubles.

Found the amulet in a small side cave, and checked the rest of the place out quickly. It was the cave I ended up in that time I investigated Kagrenzel, that tiny Dwemer ruin with the extremely long drop, when I had seriously considered unlocking the meaning of Feim on the way down.

Saw the dragon again on the way back, but it was just flying around over there, not bothering anyone. Argis seemed wary, but I ignored it with practiced ease and kept going. Shahvee confessed to me she had been a thief before she “came to Zenithar’s calling” and taught me some about lockpicking and wearing light armor in return for her amulet.

Argis was obviously well able to handle himself and not get in my way. But I needed to come to a decision. I told him there was something I needed to take care of and had to go alone, so he was dismissed back to either Elysium or Vlindrel, whichever he preferred.


	32. 10.1 Solstheim

01062015

## 10.1

###### Dragonborn  
Rain’s Hand, 24th, 4E 202

I headed for the College first, since it was closer, especially if took an alternate route, which I did to some extent. Along the way I saw a Thalmor patrol, but ignored them. Unless I killed the prisoner with them there’d be a witness, and neither option was palatable to me.

I also ran into the Lost Duo again, this time on the road out from Winterhold. I decided, they couldn’t actually _be_ nobles. No. It was a couple of random Imperials who were lost in some crazy dream or something. Maybe they’d been knocked on the head a few times too many. Maybe that little skooma problem they might have had permanently rearranged their brains. I didn’t know, but I just couldn’t believe they could truly be that incompetent.

I was nearly to the town when I came across two cultist bodies. The ones from before? Stiff and frozen and not gnawed on by bears for some reason? Not that I remember how long ago it was. Either way it made me think of—right.

It was pissing ra—wait, no. It was spitting snow by the time I jogged down the hill into the town itself, but at least it wasn’t another blizzard. I spent the evening going through my things and deciding what I would leave in my quarters, and while doing so ran across that blood thing Septimus had given me. I had actually gotten all the samples he wanted, but—well, if nothing else I could return it to him. He was going to die either way, either from old age or. . . .

###### Rain’s Hand, 25th, 4E 202

Went to the outpost. Unfortunately, it was noon by the time I got there. The sun was high in the sky, and the glare off the ice, blech. Septimus was overly excited when I got to the bottom and offered him the . . . thing. “I can almost . . . hear them,” he said wonderingly. “I feel their life energy. Come, I will make the mixture.”

He pulled some kind of device out and started fiddling with the two of them, then went over to the Dwemer cube and used the resulting pseudo-Dwemer blood to unlock it. It was very strange how it cycled and extended into a tunnel of sorts. Intriguing and somehow frightening. Then he ran off inside and I followed, curious.

Inside—and the interior was nothing like the exterior suggested—was a pedestal with a book on it. The cover looked as though it had been pieced together from different materials and stitched by the hand of a novice. A closer look made me think that maybe the cover was made from the skins of various races, actually. How comforting.

“What is this . . . it’s . . . it’s just a book!?” he cried. “I can see. The world beyond burns in my mind. It’s marvelous. . . .” He trailed off as his body lifted into the air, and then disintegrated.

That book was an artifact of Hermaeus Mora. The same Prince who said he wanted me to take over as his emissary once Septimus was dead. ‘Yeah, I think I’ll just be leaving that behind. Taking it is as good as agreeing to that role. Hermaeus Mora seems to like to discard his tools and I’d rather not be one of them.’

After a last look at the ash remains on the floor, I swiftly left the cube.

But it remained. Those cultists were a problem. And if they were coming after me it meant I had the power to stop this Miraak person. So . . . I would go, to Solstheim, and try to figure out what was going on. I changed right there in the outpost into my Dragonborn guise and left under the cover of invisibility.

I maintained the invisibility all the way to the docks at Windhelm.

“If you’re looking for passage to Solstheim, too bad. I’m not going back there anymore,” Captain Gjalund said.

“I was attacked by some cultists who came here on _your_ ship,” I replied.

“Now hold on!” he said, half rising from his seat. “That wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know they were going to attack anybody. I don’t even know how I got here.”

I tilted my head inquisitively.

“It’s hard to explain. . . . I remember those people with the masks coming on board, then—the next thing I remember, I was here and they were gone. That’s not right, losing whole days like that. There’s been something strange going on there for a while now, but after this . . . I’m done. I’m not going back to Solstheim.”

“Yes, you are,” I said. “You will take me to Solstheim. And I’ll pay you double your usual fee to do it.”

I could see him thinking hard, weighing the gold against the fear. “. . .Well, a man’s got to make a living, after all. Fine. Besides, maybe you can put a stop to whatever’s going on over there. I owe them a bit of payback myself. We’ll cast off immediately.”

I skulked off to a quiet spot on the ship—namely, I went invisible long enough to get atop the cabin, then stretched out.

###### Rain’s Hand, 26th, 4E 202

Despite how the captain made it sound we made good time, arriving a little after midnight. We’d barely docked when an officious-looking Dunmer in fine clothing approached, honing in on me. “I don’t recognize you, so I’ll assume this is your first visit to Raven Rock, outlander.”

‘How could you possibly tell considering I’m wearing a mask?’ I wondered.

“State your intentions,” he demanded.

“I’m looking for Miraak,” I said simply. “Do you know him?”

“Miraak. . . . I—I’m not sure that I do,” he said softly, his gaze going distant. But then his eyes went sharp again. “Just remember, Raven Rock is sovereign territory of House Redoran. This is Morrowind, not Skyrim. While you’re here you will be expected to abide by our laws. Any questions?”

“You know who Miraak is?” I pressed.

“I—I’m unsure,” he said distantly. “I swear I know the name, but I cannot place it.”

‘Gods above,’ I thought with a faint sigh. ‘This is messed up.’ “Can you tell me _anything_ about him?”

“I don’t think so. I’m not. . . . The—the name has something to do with the . . . Earth Stone, I think. But I’m not sure what.” He sharpened up again and added, “Remember, we are watching you.”

‘Yeah, sure, friend.’ I left him speaking with the captain and headed into town. Most people would be asleep, so I queried a guard to find the inn, a place called the Retching Netch, and headed there. I would get some rest and start in when morning came. The entire town was an ashy mess.

Just inside was a hireling in some bizarre kind of armor. Must be a Dunmer thing. “Teldryn Sero, blade for hire,” he said. “If you have the coin, I’m at your service.”

I nodded to show I heard and looked around the ground level of the inn. The style of building was odd, to say the least. I headed downstairs to speak with the proprietor. He looked to be wide awake so I asked if he’d heard any interesting rumors.

He practically exploded with information. I learned that: the mines had been shut down; some fellow named Ralis wanted help excavating a place called Kolbjorn Barrow; ash spawn attacks were on the rise for some reason; some fellow named Crescius was mucking about in Raven Rock Mine; Reavers were after some fabulous treasure; and there were some werewolves in the mountains that the hunters at Frostmoon Crag might possibly know about.

I waited a few extra seconds to make sure he was done, then bespoke a room and got some sleep. I woke up feeling well rested and utterly confused.

“Here in my shrine,” I heard someone male say. “That you have forgotten.”

I was outside, doing construction work? What in Oblivion? I shook myself out of the daze I was in and looked around. I was standing in a pool of water, working on some kind of stone thing. In the center was a weird pillar. All around me were people hammering away or otherwise occupying themselves with work to build some kind of construct around the central stone.

“That we might remember,” one said.

Then I heard a voice from off to the side, Dunmer if I wasn’t mistaken. “You there. You don’t seem to be in quite the same state as the others here. Very interesting. Ah, so you were able to resist the effect by exerting your will. Fascinating!”

I followed his voice to his location. Dunmer, all right, and finely dressed, too. Mage-style gear. If I knew more about Morrowind and the Dunmer I probably could have figured out which House he was a member of, but no.

“I would not advise touching the stone again,” he continued. “The effects of repeated contact could be. . . . Unless of course you’d like to contribute to my investigation. It could be very enlightening to observe you. May I ask what it is you’re doing here?”

“I’m looking for someone named Miraak,” I replied.

His gaze went all distant. This was becoming tediously familiar. “Miraak. . . . Miraak. . . . It sounds familiar, and yet I can’t quite place. . . . Oh. Wait, I recall. But that makes very little sense. Miraak’s been dead for thousands of years.”

‘Ah, not that kind of distant, then.’ “What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure, but it is fascinating, isn’t it? Perhaps it has some relation to what’s going on here. Quite unexpected. I’m afraid I can’t give you any answers, but there are ruins of an ancient temple of Miraak’s toward the center of the island. If I were you, I’d look there.”

I nodded. “Any idea what these people are doing?”

“Building something, clearly.”

‘Don’t be so damn literal,’ I complained privately.

“And yet they don’t seem to have much to say about it. I’m very interested to find out what happens when they finish.”

“So you haven’t tried stopping it.”

“Certainly not! Doing so would interfere with whatever is going on, and I would be unable to see how this all turns out. Are we done? I thought so.” He sniffed and strode away.

‘Note to self: if you have to deal with that man again, do not agree to any experiments.’

“That world will cease to be,” one of the workers intoned.

I shuddered and headed back into town. The first place I went was the blacksmith. They were usually sensible people with plenty of information. I noticed, as I got closer, that there was a shadowmark next to the door into his building, which was useful information, and I hadn’t even had to speak yet.

“You haven’t seen Crescius Caerellius have you? That foolish old man’s taken my pickaxe again!”

‘Well now. I suppose that’s as good a way as any to ease into conversation.’ “Why all the fuss about a simple pickaxe?”

“No, no, no,” he said, shaking his head. “This isn’t just your run-of-the-mill pickaxe. I’m talking about an Ancient Nordic Pickaxe. They don’t exactly grow on trees, you know. Look, if you see Crescius, tell him to give me that pickaxe back and I’ll pay you for the trouble.”

“Sure. Do you know someone named Miraak?”

“No, I—wait. Maybe. I don’t know how I know that name. . . .”

Back to being tediously familiar. “Which is it? Yes or no?”

“I—I’m not sure. I don’t want to talk about this.”

‘All right, then. Pressing the subject isn’t going to help. Probably no matter who I ask who might be subject to that—whatever it is.’ I asked him to elaborate on the pickaxe, learned about an ore called stalhrim (or, as some called it, “enchanted ice”), and a place called Skaal Village. I then asked him how he ended up in Raven Rock. He explained, and it was moderately interesting, but of little value.

I waited until the Dunmer woman loitering nearby moved off and said quietly, “I noticed the shadowmark by your door.”

“Well, well. It’s been a long time since someone from the Guild’s bothered to make their way out here. So tell me . . . how’s my brother Delvin? Still spending his nights at the Ragged Flagon trying to win Vex’s heart?”

I snickered quietly and said softly, “Ah, no, not a member, but I have had fairly important dealings with Brynjolf, and someone I’m very close to is a good friend of his. But from what I’ve heard, yes, Delvin is still trying. Brother, eh? I’ve only seen him the once. I should have noticed the resemblance.”

He nodded and inspected the blade he was working on. “Damn layabout never even bothers to send his own flesh and blood a letter saying how he’s doing. Can you imagine?”

“From what I understand there’s been rather a lot of trouble over that way, but it’s more or less cleared up now.”

He paused his work and looked at me directly. “Oh?”

“Oh yes. But I think I’d have to speak to Brynjolf first before I got into details. Or get a letter from him to fill you in. Better still, see if my friend will come here at some point to fill you in. It’s not like she told me much.”

“Is she Guild?”

I shook my head. “She somehow managed to form a close friendship with Brynjolf. It’s very much against her personal philosophy to steal, but doesn’t care that others do, if that makes sense.”

He nodded again. “Anyway, if you’re looking for work around here I’ve got bad news. This place is dryer than a damn bone. But if you’re willing to do a retrieval, there’s something needs doing I haven’t been able to handle myself. I unfortunately caused it.”

“I will at least hear you out.”

“A fellow Breton who went by the name Esmond Tyne showed up on my doorstep about a fortnight ago. He noticed the shadowmark like you did, and I thought he was one of us.”

“Ah. And unlike me, he didn’t correct your impression. He stole something from you?”

“That he did,” he said in a chagrined tone. “Right out from under my nose. Can you believe it? It’s my own formula for improved bonemold. Took me years to perfect. Before he ran off he was talking some nonsense about trying to fence goods to the Rieklings at Castle Karstaag. I told him he was crazy to even think about talking to those vicious little buggers, but he wouldn’t listen. I’d bet a fat purse of coin that he’s either dead or hiding out up there.”

“Doesn’t sound too difficult,” I mused out loud. “All right. If I find myself in that area I’ll look into it for you. And retrieve the formula if possible.”

“You do that, and I’ll make sure you’re set up right. You won’t be disappointed. I’m Glover, by the way. You?”

“. . .Ah, I don’t have a name, actually. Just a title. But you can call me Riften if you want. I’m a Thane there, of all places. Or Rift. That works, too, I suppose.”

He gave me a very strange look, then nodded. But then, given that a number of thieves in the Guild used an alias. . . .

I nodded back and, after having him point the way to the mines, hastened off. I walked right into an argument and, when I got too close to the two of them, heard, “Who in the blazes are you!? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

But the woman had called him Crescius, so—“Perhaps I could help.”

“Hmph, maybe. Been difficult trusting people lately, they think I’m crazy. But mark my words, these mines hold a secret that could put Raven Rock back on the map. A secret the East Empire Company swept under the rug two centuries ago. It killed my great-grandfather, and left Raven Rock with a worthless and tainted mine.”

I prompted him for more information and finally summed it up as: take journal, take key, go investigate, bring back “proof”. He also went all distant when I asked about Miraak and I resolved to just not bother asking anyone else. It was obvious that was getting me nowhere, aside from pointing me at the Earth Stone again.

While I was there I said, “Glover wants his Ancient Nordic Pickaxe back.”

“The damn fool doesn’t even deserve to have it! The pickaxe was made for mining, not selling. I’ll bet he stole it from the Skaal in the first place.”

Save me from crusty old men! “What he may or may not deserve is beside the point. It doesn’t belong to you.”

He heaved a sigh and unhooked it from his belt, then handed it over. “Oh, very well. Here. Tell him I hope he drops the thing on his foot. Now, be careful down there. The mine can be treacherous.”

As I headed for the stairs down his wife said, “Why you’re leading Crescius on, I’ll never understand.”

‘I may not come back with anything except “proof” that there’s nothing down there, which is almost as good and might stop your husband from obsessing over this.’ Went down into the mine—there was a path winding around the edges of a deep hole, but—to Oblivion with that. I dropped down off the side.

Found a boarded up tunnel I opened, and beyond that was a locked gate. The key he gave me worked. It led to an ancient Nord tomb. Shouty draugr, water everywhere. I was finding so much ebony gear that I was forced to use my Arch-Mage pouch to store it all. I’d have barely been able to walk otherwise. Also found an open, upright sarcophagus with some weird ice-like stuff in it. Maybe that stalhrim Glover spoke of?

Well, whatever. My normal pick bounced right off the stuff, but the one I needed to return to Glover worked just fine, if at a third of the usual return for the time expended.

Deeper in I wondered, ‘Why is the stone here all scorched? Traps, maybe?’ There were two alcoves visible, or perhaps halls, so maybe one of those mage traps powered by soul gems? It was. A shock trap, but it barely tickled so it was no trouble.

Opened a door into a large room with at least three shouty draugr, so I sent in my summon, over and over and over. Might as well get some experience from the situation. And besides, it was amusing to see a Dremora Lord go arse over teakettle so many times from being hit with Unrelenting Force.

Eventually, though, play time had to end, so I checked behind the waterfall. Eh, it was just a little room with another upright, stalhrim-packed sarcophagus. Went back out and up the stairs, around, over the bridge, and turned a handle-switch. That opened a door back across the bridge.

Found a strange little circular room with a plinth holding an Ice Spike tome. Ignored that and headed up the ramp. At the top was a bow and some arrows. I was feeling suspicious by then. Ahead was one of those floor-to-ceiling wooden barriers, so I skittered over and peeked around the side.

Another soul gem-powered mage trap. Walked right on over to it, and for some reason it didn’t go off. I took the soul gem anyway, just in case. I was presented with a choice farther along. The door? Or the tunnel to my left with wind shrieking through it? I chose the door, but it was disappointing. Just a locked chest inside a tiny, tiny closet of a room.

The tunnel it was!

It was fairly obvious that the slab of stone on the ground right in front of it used to be part of the wall, so the tunnel was a secret at one time. Came out onto a ledge overlooking a large enough cavern. There were two waterfalls going, into a stream. I saw a corpse in the water. A skeleton, what looked like a campsite—a bedroll, at least—and at the far end a massive set of doors, elaborately carved (even the frame, which in itself was massive), and glowing red in places.

If I dropped down I might well not be able to jump back up, but I was willing to risk it. Surely there was a way to get that door open. The stream went underground, so there was no way out that way. The corpse in the water was a draugr. There were additional “dead” draugr around. The skeleton was uninteresting, but there was another one up on the bedroll. That one had a journal and a strange blade.

After reading the journal I had a rough idea what was necessary, so I wielded that massive two-hander and prepared myself. As I started moving sideways I swung it as hard as I could horizontally and watched as a ribbon of red light emerged and traveled over to the door surround. It crashed into it, just about the point where the glowing red line was.

When it hit the entire thing shifted, the red line disappearing, and a new one showing up, but that time vertical and higher up, more over the doors. The final line was straight down the center, at the seam of the doors. It was all some convoluted mage lock. The doors opened to reveal a long hallway, much like the ones found leading to claw key doors, except longer.

And it had a series of swinging blades, three per section, and swinging slightly out of sync with each other. Not a problem. I threw the lever at the end to open the gate and entered another long room. That one had a word wall at the end—I could hear the chanting already. There was a lot of water in the room, in kind of an upside-down U shape. The spit of “land” in the center had a large chest. There were shallow stairs all around, leading up to perimeter paths.

Something about the situation made me nervy. Maybe I was just remembering that one place, where if you went for the chest the floor would drop out from beneath you. I headed for the perimeter and got about half way when—Dragon Priest! Etched into his mask was “Zahkriisos”.

The chest: two septims. The word wall: Mul—Strength. Dragon Aspect? I had no idea. It sure felt interesting, though.

The way out—the right side while I faced back from whence I came (which had been from the left)—had a large chest which I looted, a spiraling ramp upward, and then a pedestal with a very strange book on it. It—well, there was a dark, smoky aura wisping around it and I could hear some sound . . . like a dragon growling in its sleep? Maybe? Or a sabre cat?

I absolutely did not like the way it looked or, well, sounded, so I left it there. If it turned out to be important I could always return. I continued on, eventually coming to a “secret” door with a pullchain.

‘Oh, how surprising,’ I thought. ‘Bandits! I am super hungry, so this is excellent news.’ I looted the place to the bedrock and exited to the outside, killed more bandits, then looked around. ‘I have no damn clue where I am.’ I picked a direction at random and headed along the coast. Soon as I saw the Earth Stone I patted myself on the back for my excellent sense of direction when lost.

I could go speak to Crescius. Well, once it was day. The townsfolk were all hammering away in that dream they were having, or whatever it was. Then I noticed the still smoking Red Mountain off in the distance and realized that gave me at least a vague idea of direction for any other time I got lost. The sky was bright with an aurora borealis, so it wasn’t like it was dark as a pit at night.

Either way, it was a good thing I’d just fed so well and was energized, because I didn’t want to sleep and find myself back at the stone, banging away with a hammer. It was a long, boring wait.

###### Rain’s Hand, 27th, 4E 202

Found Crescius, handed over the journal I retrieved. He was thrilled, his wife was thrilled, and I got seven hundred fifty septims out of it. Then I spoke to Glover. “So, you tracked him down, eh? Quite a character, isn’t he? Tell you what. Since you went through all the trouble of finding it for me and all, you keep it. I just wanted to remind that codger; you can’t just go around taking things from other people. Now that you’ve delivered the message, I’m satisfied. Besides, that pickaxe hasn’t done me any good in years. Maybe you can put it to good use.”

I nodded and refrained from pointing out the irony of a thief scolding other people for stealing. Then I asked him for directions to that temple. ‘No more delays!’ I thought. ‘The Dragonborn is not known for being ridiculously helpful to random strangers.’

Glover explained the best way to go about things and I set off, and caught myself picking samples of all the interesting and unfamiliar vegetation, then told myself firmly to _stop_. The Dragonborn did not wander around whimsically picking flowers, or whatever. Passed by a bandit camp, but I wasn’t hungry. I _was_ interested in those glowing ore veins, but they could wait. And then another bandit camp. Skyrim didn’t have this density of crime!

‘I admit it,’ I thought, pausing to have at it with my pickaxe. ‘I have a problem. Those delicious ore veins, they call to me so.’ I must have tapped every damn one I saw on the way to the temple, ones at the bandit camps excluded.

Stumbled over those hunters the barkeep spoke of, but I didn’t stop to chat. Besides, I could smell that they were weres, and there was every chance they’d be as unfriendly as Vilkas had been at first.

Well now. I came at the temple from off the beaten path. As I looked down from my lofty perch I could see three—no, four—dragon skeletons on the ground at the base of the trail that led up toward the temple. Looking left I could see even more of them. Someone obviously had some fun in the distant past.

There were a number of workers there, hammering away in a daze. I drained the ones that were obviously bandits, but the remainder? They were all dressed to a type, and it wasn’t armor they were wearing. I left those ones alone.

###### The Temple of Miraak  
Rain’s Hand, 27th, 4E 202

At the center of the place was a woman who was not in a daze. She kept going from person to person, pleading with them to stop, to wake up. Naturally, I spoke with her.

“You there. What brings you to this place? Why are you here?” she asked. “I am Frea of the Skaal. I am here to either save my people, or avenge them.”

“Save them from what?” I asked, glancing at one of the workers. “What is wrong with them?”

“I am unsure. Something has taken control of most of the people of Solstheim. It makes them forget themselves, and they work on these horrible creations that corrupt the Stones, the very land itself. My father Storn, our shaman, says Miraak has returned to Solstheim, but that is impossible.”

“This Miraak tried to have me killed,” I said.

“Then you and I both have reason to see what lies beneath us. Let us go. There is nothing more I can do here. The Tree Stone and my friends are beyond my help for now. We need to find a way into the temple below.”

I nodded in agreement and started to check around, but was stopped by the sound of stone grating against stone. Then I heard them. I tracked the sound and found a curving downward pathway, and took care of the cultists who had boiled out. We then went inside.

It was a long journey, and we kept going deeper and deeper. I had started to feel like we would go so far we’d emerge on the other side of the world. There were plenty of draugr, including the shouty ones, and traps, including more swinging blades. For that room Frea waved me on ahead.

“You have a much better chance than I to make it through these,” she said, though why she thought that I was unsure. “I have no doubt that lever turns these blades off. I shall wait here for now.” Then she sat down in a safe spot.

I was having flashbacks to dealing with Delphine and Esbern, actually. I sped past the blades and threw the lever and waited for her to get up and catch up. I also picked up the second word to that new Shout: Qah—Armor. That, at least, made what it did a bit more clear to me. In that same room we fought another handful of draugr. One—the one that cracked out of the center sarcophagus—was a shouty sort, and he had a key. The back of his resting place was a locked door.

Deeper and deeper—the temple was ridiculously deep—and the statues that started to appear were creeping me out. And there was Frea, still waving a hand and letting me do the dangerous things. I rather wanted to growl at her, or maybe “accidentally” Shout at her.

And then, we came to a spot at the end of a very long room. It had a statue there that gave me the wibblies. It reminded me very strongly of Hermaeus Mora. There was a secret door behind it, and through that, down at the end of a very long, rounded, winding tunnel, was another book.

“There are dark magics at work here,” Frea said. “Ready yourself. This book. . . . It seems wrong, somehow. Here, yet . . . not. It may be what we seek.”

And I would be the one using it, of course. It had the same smoky aura wisping away from it. I heard the same rumbling growl. I was very much tempted to just walk away, but—I went ahead and picked it up.

And lost control of my actions. I opened it—the title was _Waking Dreams of a Starless Sky_ —and bands of symbols wrapped around me, crafted from green light, that turned into tentacles. The next thing I knew I was elsewhere, in the darkness.

“The time comes soon when. . . . What?”

My vision began to return. I could see someone, in a mask not unlike the one the cultists wore. This was Miraak? To either side of him were strange, floating creatures. The figure turned and I was lashed with lightning and sent to my knees, still not quite aware enough to stay fully upright.

“Who are you to dare set foot here?”

And then my vision cleared entirely. He was a Dragon Priest, so the odds of him being Miraak were excellent. The creatures were nightmare abominations. Behind all of them was a dragon and a tower.

“Ah. . . . You are Dragonborn. I can feel it. And yet. . . . So you have slain Alduin.”

‘How can he tell? Does he have someone whispering in his head or something?’

“Well done. I could have slain him myself, back when I walked the earth, but I chose a different path. You have no idea of the true power a Dragonborn can wield! _Mul Qah Diiv_!” he Shouted. He took on a ghostly semblance of . . . armor? With horns.

“This realm is beyond you. You have no power here. And it is only a matter of time before Solstheim is also mine. I already control the minds of its people. Soon they will finish building my temple, and I can return home.” He turned away and said to his minions, “She can await my arrival with the rest of Tamriel.”

As he walked away toward the dragon the minions floated over to me. They were even more disgusting up close, with tentacles where legs should have been, four withered arms, and what looked like a very strange mouth at their middles. They began lashing me with repeated casts of lightning as Miraak mounted the dragon, and as he flew away I sank into darkness again.

“What happened to you?” I heard Frea ask. “You read the book and then. . . . It seemed as though you were not really here. I could see you, but also see through you!”

‘Well,’ I thought muzzily. ‘That explains one thing. They “killed” me, yet I live. I just ended up back here is all.’ “I’m not entirely sure. I saw Miraak fly away on a dragon.”

“Where? Where is he? Can we reach him? Can we kill him?”

The way she said “kill” was disturbing, which was an odd thing for a vampire to think.

“Somehow, reading this book took me to where he was.”

“This is a dangerous thing, then. We should return to my village, and show this to my father. Perhaps Storn can make sense of what is going on. Come, there looks to be a way out through here.”


	33. 10.2 Solstheim

01062015-02062015

## 10.2

###### The Fate of the Skaal  
Rain’s Hand, 28th, 4E 202

“You see that green light?” Frea asked once we were outside. “That comes from the Wind Stone, where my people work against their will. They must be freed soon.” She started walking again, saying, “The village is just ahead. Storn has used his magic to raise a barrier around it, protecting the few of us left. That the barrier is still there is a good sign.”

I followed her and we came to her village. There was a group of three kneeling in front of one of the buildings, a bright blue-white light rising up from the center of the rough triangle they made.

“Father! I have returned! There is yet hope!”

The old man looked up slightly. “Frea! What news do you bring? Is there a way to free our people?”

“No, but I have brought someone who has seen things. . . . She has confirmed that Miraak is the one behind the suffering of our people.”

“I feared that would be so,” he replied.

“But how is that possible?” she asked. “After all this time. . . .”

Storn lifted his head a little higher and said, “I fear there is too much we do not yet know.”

She sighed. “Please, tell Storn what has happened.”

I found it a bit strange that she used her father’s name so much, but who was I to judge?

“So, you have seen things, yes?” he said to me. “My magic grows weak, and so does the barrier around our village. Time is short. Tell me what you know.”

“I have seen Miraak,” I said as Frea joined the others in kneeling. “I read a book in his temple, and went somewhere else. He was there, in that strange place, with strange creatures, and flew off on a dragon.”

“The legends speak of that place. Terrible battles fought at the temple. The dragons burning it to the ground in rage. They also speak of something worse than dragons buried within. Difficult to imagine, but if true. . . . It means that what I feared has come to pass. Miraak was never truly gone, and now has returned. If you could go to this place and see him. . . . Are you like Miraak? Are you Dragonborn?”

“I am indeed Dragonborn,” I verified.

“Then perhaps you are connected with him. The old tales say that he, too, was Dragonborn.”

“What do you think it means that we are?”

“I am unsure,” he admitted. “It may mean that you could save us, or it may mean that you could bring about our destruction.”

Which told me absolutely nothing.

“But our time here is running out. The few of us left free of control cannot protect ourselves for much longer. You must go to Saering’s Watch. Learn there the Word that Miraak learned long ago, and use that knowledge on the Wind Stone. You may be able to break the hold on our people there, and free them from control. All-Maker shelter you.”

I got rough directions from him and walked away. I felt extremely divided on the whole issue. It meant dealing with Hermaeus Mora in some fashion! But I would, at the very least, go to Saering’s Watch, learn the Word, and help free his people from Miraak’s control, and those of Raven Rock.

Even though it was after midnight I started off. West to the Wind Stone we passed on the way in, then west and a bit north. I was attacked by a crazed Nord on the way. I drained him because I was feeling irritable.

When I saw the the place ahead I backtracked a little and jogged up the nearby rock formations leading to the mountain that backed the place so I could come at it from above. There was no telling what was in there, after all, and most hostiles didn’t look up.

‘Oh look. Draugr and a dragon.’ I planted a Dremora Lord into the party and dropped down to inspect the wall: Gol—Earth. And, while I arced lightning at the dragon on my way down the steps, the damn thing was a coward. It fled while I was busy fighting a shouty draugr. Once the place was cleared up I took off in pursuit, using Aura Whisper to give me an idea where it went beyond “over that way”.

Stumbled over a bunch of werebears, but I went invisible and kept looking. Unfortunately, the dragon eluded me, which just pissed me off. I probably should have just used Dragonrend on it to make sure it stayed grounded, but. . . .

That being the case, I delved for the meaning of the Word and backtracked to the Wind Stone, then Shouted at the central, green-glowing pillar. The glow vanished and the stonework being constructed shattered into dust, but Miraak obviously was on guard for tampering, because some nightmare creature came out of the water. Not like the one I saw via the Black Book, but something just as disgusting—and as prone to tentacles.

The townsfolk were a little too dazed still to help, but I took the, uh, lurker down without too much trouble. The people there thanked me and started to file off toward Skaal Village. They could let Storn know about the change, just by walking into sight.

On my way to Raven Rock I stumbled over another one, and killed the cultist playing guard. Shouted that stone free, too. The workers there were funny little creatures—maybe those Rieklings Glover had mentioned? The lurker that rose up was hilariously simple to kill, so perhaps they were not all alike.

I saw and noted a Dwemer ruin, but had no intention of poking around. Maybe some other day. There was a tent outside on the same level as the surrounding terrain, a fairly large one, with a dead Dunmer inside. I expected he had been investigating the ruin, but I saw no obvious explanation for his state of not living.

‘What in Oblivion!?’ I had spied an ore vein and veered that way—I had a problem, yes—and a strange glowing spider hatched out of an egg or something, skittered over to me, and exploded. ‘What is wrong with this island?’

Finally got to that bandit camp again. They died. Those strange ore veins produced some odd stone, I didn’t know what. Maybe a smith would know, if I remembered to ask. I freed the Earth Stone, and promptly got back on a ship to Skyrim.

As soon as I hit land and was a decent distance from Windhelm I changed back to my proper appearance and gear, and started the trek to Riften, sprinting quite a lot. I wanted to speak to Brynjolf. And if that didn’t help, Serana.

And then I saw something that made me laugh myself silly. A Dark Brotherhood assassin, Dunmer, was charging up on his mission to end my life. I made a meal of him, patted him fondly on his rapidly cooling cheek, and kept going. I relaxed quite a bit after that. Familiar events, familiar sights and plants, and delicious ore veins just begging me to plunder them.

Brynjolf wasn’t in the marketplace so I went down to the Ragged Flagon. I found him at one of the tables and took a seat. We only chatted lightly, but the mushroom I was nibbling on got the message across nicely. On my way to the house I heard that sound and stopped cold. There was a dragon up ahead and it was awfully close to the city.

I listened carefully, but could hear no voices, nor the sounds of bears or cats or wolves. I decided it was probably tussling with some frostbite spiders and took a slightly longer way to get to the house. It was a beautiful day in The Rift so I sat on the porch while I waited. At one point I thought I could see him coming, but it was just a random hunter and her dog. It was obvious to me that she couldn’t see the house, which was a fine thing indeed.

He showed up a couple of hours later and we went inside, and into the mushroom. “So, lass, what’s up? You seemed troubled.”

“You know me too well,” I said with a sigh. So I told him about my latest adventures, and why I was so, well, scared.

“I’m not sure what to say.” He took a long drink from his mead and shook his head. “I can’t even say anything about you bringing someone along, because it sounds as if that wouldn’t help.”

“It wouldn’t. True, I wasn’t there for very long, but there was nothing I couldn’t handle by myself. And I doubt I could pull a companion in with me. Besides, most people would balk at having to go to a Plane of Oblivion. Besides, the only person the Dragonborn dragged around was Marcurio. There’s Serana, but she’s known for associating with me, not a damn Nord hero. It’s just—I already walked away from him once. I resisted temptation. I’ve seen what he does with his tools. What happens to me if I go in there? Does that give him a chance to get his hooks into me?”

“Tentacles, you mean,” he said, smirking.

I rolled my eyes and pelted him with a grape.

“He’s got a lot of suckers for the suckers out there,” he added.

I groaned and hid my face in my hands. “That was horrible. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Come on, lass. Let’s get you to bed. You can sleep on it. Think about it some more in the morning.”

“Oh, all right.”

###### Rain’s Hand, 29th, 4E 202

I woke up, and remembered. I had dreamed. Vampires _don’t_ dream. Never. That’s just the way it was. A vampire might sleep badly, restlessly, as if, had they been able to, they’d had a bad dream or nightmare, but they wouldn’t actually dream. Dawnstar before Erandur and I fixed things would very likely have been very uncomfortable, but even for that I wouldn’t have expected to dream.

But I had dreamed. Assuming I wasn’t completely around the bend, Akatosh had spoken to me in that dream. It was all fuzzy around the edges, but the center was in sharp relief, almost painfully so. I had been assured that my soul was safe from Hermaeus Mora through the agency of Bormahu. And that yes, I should go back and deal with the issue. I looked up at the ceiling of my bedroom unhappily, but still got out of bed and got ready. I would go let Brynjolf know.

It was early enough that the market wasn’t open, so I went down to the Ragged Flagon. Brynjolf was already awake, so I took a seat at his table. “I had a dream,” I whispered, and explained briefly. He looked somewhere between incredulous, uneasy, and resigned. Before I left I said, “And tell Delvin to write his brother a damn letter!”

“Well. . . . I guess nothing bad happened the last time,” Captain Gjalund said when I approached him for passage back to Solstheim. “Fine, we’ll sail as soon as I’m paid.”

###### Rain’s Hand, 30th, 4E 202

We docked at some time after midnight so I headed for the inn, rented a room again, and slept. I shouldn’t have to fear that I’d be co-opted again, and I wasn’t. I neither dreamed nor was mind-controlled away to work on the Earth Stone. It was time to go check Skaal Village.

On my way out I heard that mercenary—Teldryn, I think his name was—telling someone, “Vampires are wretched beings. Feeding off of others the way they do . . . it’s disgusting.”

‘Well, I know who I won’t ever be hiring,’ I thought, then quit the building.

Storn greeted me with, “The air is different. We are safe, which means you have succeeded.”

‘Well, yeah,’ I thought. ‘All your people are back wandering around the village. That would have been a huge clue.’ “Yes, your people are free,” I replied, just in case he hadn’t, you know, noticed.

“You have proven yourself an ally to the Skaal, and so the Skaal shall be allies with you.”

‘All right.’ “And now?”

“If you have released the Wind Stone and broken the hold on my people, perhaps you can do the same for the rest of Solstheim,” he said as Frea got up from the bench they were seated on and wandered off. “I doubt it will fully stop whatever Miraak is doing, but it may slow his progress.”

“My goal is to stop Miraak.”

“I cannot help with that. None here can. You will need the knowledge Miraak himself learned. You will need to learn more about this Black Book. Miraak had this, you said? This does not look like something of the Dragon Cult. It is a dark thing, unnatural. I would have nothing to do with it. But the Dark Elf wizard, Neloth. . . . He came to us some time ago, asking about Black Books. I believe he knows a great deal about them. Perhaps too much. Seek him out to the south. Be cautious, Dragonborn. There is something else at work here.”

###### Cleansing the Stones; The Path of Knowledge  
Rain’s Hand, 30th, 4E 202

“Neloth is searching for them,” he added almost as an afterthought. “In fact, he has already found one. He showed it to me when he came here. It was very like the one you found in Miraak’s temple. A thing of dark magic, not of the All-Maker.”

I got directions to the two stones I had yet to cleanse. I sincerely doubted the one at Miraak’s Temple could be fixed, not when it sat at the heart of his domain. The Water Stone was on the west coast, north of the Earth Stone. The Sun Stone was just north of where Neloth could be found, in the southeast area of the island. So, I’d head to the Water Stone first, then Sun, then Neloth.

On the way I was attacked by Rieklings, at some Dwemer ruin. One of them was riding a boar, which I thought was terribly cute, except when the thing tried to gore me with its tusks. At the Water Stone a cultist was on guard, and since my hunger was almost unbearable at that point I drained him. I could only hope that the crazy infecting these people (possibly via their gear) would not be in their blood.

The lurker that emerged when I Shouted at the stone was a lot tougher than the last one, and added on to that was a dragon attacking. I took out the lurker and used Dragonrend on the unexpected guest. It landed some distance away so I had to sprint and leap like a mad rabbit to get to it. I killed it, of course, but then Miraak showed up in some glowy white portal of sorts.

“Do you ever wonder if it hurts?” he asked as he absorbed the dragon’s soul before I could. “To have one’s soul ripped out like that? One step closer to my return.” Then he vanished into that glowy white whatever.

Bastard thief! I didn’t care that there were thieves out there, so long as they didn’t fucking steal from _me_! He would pay for that. I kicked rocks on the way toward the Sun Stone, but then had the good fortune to run across a group of bandits. “Thank you kindly for your donation,” I told them before obliterating and draining them.

Did you know that burnt spriggans like to hang around lava pools and stare at them longingly even as the sheer heat involved crisped their “flesh”?

‘Hang on,’ I thought, casting around for the source of the voice I heard. ‘Do I hear the dulcet tones of a reaver? Yes! Time for a snack.’ And then I freed the Sun Stone. Another cultist was there on guard, but he was no trouble.

I just headed toward the prodigious mushroom to the south and stumbled over two people outside, a male and a female Dunmer. “Why are you out here?” the woman asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the tower assisting Master Neloth?”

“Why won’t this summoning work?” the man muttered, pouring over a book in his hands. Then he looked back over his shoulder at her and said, “If you must know, I am trying to get this Ash Guardian spell to work. Now let me concentrate. Besides, shouldn’t you be worrying about the damage to the tower?”

And then I got bored and zoned out until they were done talking. There were at least three mushrooms there, maybe four, big enough to house someone, so I wanted to know which one to enter. I was finally able to ask her and get on my way, but as I jogged up the ramp to the correct mushroom I heard the man mutter, “Tart bones? That doesn’t even make sense. I’ll just ignore that part.”

‘Gods above. That boy is a disaster waiting to happen.’ Inside was a deep shaft of—vines? The floor glowed and I felt like I was floating, standing there at the edge of the light. When I stepped into it fully I floated upward and landed on a little dock, I guess you could call it.

Neloth spotted me straight away. “You again. Didn’t I see you in Raven Rock?”

“I was told you know where to find Black Books.”

“You refer to the tomes of esoteric knowledge that old Hermaeus Mora has scattered throughout the world? Is this somehow connected to your search for Miraak.”

‘Ooo, good memory.’ “I found a Black Book—two actually—but apparently I need to find more.”

“Found one? Yes, and you read it, too, didn’t you? Don’t try to deny it, you’ve got the look. I can see it now.”

‘What is with you people on this island? I’m wearing a mask! All you see is my eyes and that I’m short!’ I didn’t bother to point out that I read only one of them, and that I was being prodded on by Akatosh.

“Dangerous knowledge is still knowledge and therefore useful. Usually turns out to be the most useful, in my experience.”

“I need to know what Miraak knows if I’m to have a chance at stopping him.”

He fiddled with his beard. “Now that is a dangerous path indeed. Hermaeus Mora gives nothing away for free. You may end up like Miraak, of course. Two power-mad Dragonborn. It could be very interesting.”

‘Not if I can help it,’ I thought. ‘Just imagine. Miraak going the way of Reman Cyrodiil or Tiber Septim, with the added advantage of mind-controlling the populace. Blech.’ “Do you know where I can find another Black Book?” I asked, pushing the issue again.

“Oh yes. They’re not hard to locate once you know how to look for them. I have one here that I’ve been using to locate more. I haven’t been idle while this fascinating madness engulfed Solstheim. But my book isn’t what you’re looking for. I’m quite sure it is unconnected with this Miraak. But I do know where to find a Black Book that can help you.”

I wondered how he knew which one would work. I expected they all took a person to Apocrypha, so why—whatever. “All right. Where is it?”

“I haven’t been able to get it, though,” he said, as if I hadn’t even spoken. “But maybe together we can unlock the secrets the Dwemer left behind. Forbidden knowledge was something of a specialty of theirs, eh? You don’t think they would just leave it alone, do you?”

‘I can’t say that I’ve bothered to think about it? And they managed to tonally whisk themselves out of existence.’

“It seems the ancient Dwemer discovered this book and took it to study. I found their ‘reading room’ in the ruins of Nchardak. The book is there, but it’s sealed in a protective case which I wasn’t able to open. But perhaps the two of us together will be able to. To Nchardak, then. Follow me.”

On the way to the ruin—it was north-ish along the coast from Tel Mithryn—Neloth babbled at me, “The Dwemer certainly knew how to build for the ages. These towers have outlasted their creators by millennia. The book is housed inside that dome. I’ll need to unlock the door for us. Let’s get on with it.”

‘Dome? What dome? I can’t even see the ruin from here.’

The outside was infested with bandits; there were always bandits. In front of the main doors, just off to the side, was something Neloth called a “control pedestal”. It reminded me of the pedestals that seated lexicons, actually, but Neloth had something he called a “control cube” that would make the thing function to open the doors.

###### Second Seed, 1st, 4E 202

“You can see the book right here,” he said, striding toward a clear section of the floor. It was ringed with that Dwemer alloy, then stone, alloy, stone, alloy. . . . In the first stone ring were four smaller, convex circles, equidistant around the center. Each was ringed with a thin band of alloy, but the center was a greenish material, carved with a symbol I didn’t recognize. Up above was a crystal, held in place, and at the far end of the room was one of those Dwemer-style button pedestals. Doors led off to the right, but they were enclosed with some kind of cover. I suspected the pedestal next to it would cause that cover to move out of the way.

“So tantalizingly close. . . . But trust me, no magic will open that. I’d have had the book already if it could. No, we’ll have to do this the hard way. If we can restore the steam supply to this room, I’m certain I can open it. As you’ll see, that’s easier said than done. This way to the boilers.”

I was just impressed that the Dwemer could make clear glass, or something similar. All the glass I had seen in my life was thick, bubbled, and next to impossible to see out of. But it let in light, and that was all that mattered.

We went down on a lift and Neloth rabbited on some more about things that really didn’t matter to me. I paid enough attention to know that we needed four additional control cubes and we were going to find and fetch them. Also that the two pedestals on the top level of the boiler room controlled the level of water in the room, and four boilers down a ramp would power the contraption upstairs.

It was a Dwemer ruin—not much to say there, really. Spiders, Centurions, sphere guardians, control pedestals, “clever” puzzles, and so on. A fair amount of swimming because of the flooding. I did find one interesting thing, a very strange gem, but I had no idea what it was so I tucked it away safely.

After a long and pointlessly chatty journey we made it back to the boiler room. One cube went into a pedestal on the top level, the other four into the boiler pedestals, to turn them on. After we fought a Centurion who came out to scold us for mucking about with things, we retreated back up the lift.

“Yes, it worked!” he cried happily. “The steam is flowing. Now it should be as simple as. . . .”

I waited, but he just stood there, staring at the button pedestal. I heaved a sigh and reached over, and pushed it. Beams of light appeared, going from each of the four discs to the crystal up above. The “glass” slid out of the way and the section underneath rose. There sat the book innocently on its pedestal.

“At last. I hope it was worth it. Please . . . be my guest. You deserve the first look. Besides, it could be very dangerous. These books are known to drive many people insane. Don’t worry, I’ll take careful notes of what happens to you.”

‘And that’s one person I’m not inclined to do any experiments for.’ The book, when I opened it, was shown to be titled _Epistolary Acumen_. The same thing happened as last time. Bands of glowing green symbols that morphed into tentacles, entrapping me.

###### The Gardener of Men  
Second Seed, 1st, 4E 202

As I started to fade I heard him say, “Oh good. Be sure to say hello to Hermaeus Mora for me, if you see him.”

‘I don’t think so, friend. You want to say hello you can read a book for yourself.’

Hermaeus Mora’s avatar showed up when I got my bearings. “So, another seeker after knowledge enters my realm. This is Apocrypha, where all knowledge is hoarded. Perhaps you will prove clever enough to uncover the secrets hidden here. If so, welcome. Perhaps you are a fool or a coward. If so, you are in peril. Read your book again and escape before Apocrypha claims you forever.”

After he disappeared I set out. Just listening to him speak was soporific and I needed to move to shake that off. The place was the same as before in terms of looks, but it was obvious I was in a different location with the Plane. It was divided up into “chapters” with each of them being accessed by something similar to a Black Book. But all they did was warp me to a new location within the area. Eventually, after defeating any number of lurkers and seekers (as I called them, considering they often held books, and Hermaeus Mora had used the term “seeker of knowledge”) I came upon the actual Black Book.

The version in Apocrypha had a heartbeat, of sorts, and the symbol on the cover brightened and dimmed in time with the sound. Though I wasn’t sure what touching it would do, touch it I had to. After it opened Hermaeus Mora’s avatar appeared again. “All seekers of knowledge come to me, sooner or later.”

Ugh. “What do you want of me this time?” I asked.

“You have entered my realm. You have sought out the forbidden knowledge that only one other has obtained.”

‘It can’t be too forbidden if Akatosh pushed me in this direction.’

“You are Dragonborn, like Miraak before you. A seeker of knowledge and power. All that he knows he learned from me. I know what you want: to use your power as Dragonborn to bend the world to your will.”

‘Ah, no, friend, I don’t. The idea of controlling people like Miraak does makes me feel sick.’

“Here then is the knowledge you need, although you did not know you needed it. The second Word of Power. Use it to bend the wills of mortals to your purpose.”

Hah—Mind.

“But this is not enough. Miraak knows the final Word of Power. Without that, you cannot hope to surpass him. Miraak served me well, and he was rewarded. I can grant you the same power as he wields, but all knowledge has its price.”

“What is your price for the final Word?”

“Knowledge for knowledge,” he replied. “The Skaal have withheld their secrets from me for many long years. The time has come for this knowledge to be added to my library.”

“I will speak to the Skaal and bring you their secrets,” I said. ‘Hopefully?’ It truly depended on just how much Storn was willing to give in order to see the threat of Miraak abolished.

“I know you will. And then I will give you the knowledge that you seek. Send the Skaal shaman to me. He holds the secrets that will be mine.”

The avatar disappeared and I looked at the Black Book as the three black-as-night circles on the pages glowed and from them rose three green orbs of light. Examining them revealed that choosing one would boost my power in some fashion, but I declined. To my way of thinking I had already received a reward for having threaded the maze. Taking something else would be just begging to fall in as Hermaeus Mora’s servant, and I’d already turned away from that once. 

I was a bit revolted that anyone would accuse me of wanting to surpass Miraak. I just wanted him dead. Surpassing him in the way Hermaeus Mora meant was not something I was interested in. So I reached out to close the book, but simply touching it sent me back.

“What happened?” I heard Neloth say as my vision came back to me. “What did you see? Different people have very different experiences when reading these books.”

“I talked to Hermaeus Mora,” I said dryly.

“You’re still acting surprisingly sane, too. What did he have to say? He must have wanted something from you.”

I saw no particular harm in telling him, so I replied, “He wants the ‘secrets of the Skaal’.”

“Hmph. What secrets could they have worth keeping from old Mora? Sounds like a bargain to me. Hermaeus Mora learns some fascinating new ways to skin a horker, and you become the second most powerful Dragonborn that ever lived.”

I took exception to that, too.

“Well, that gives me a lot to think about. I need to get back to Tel Mithryn. I have some ideas about how to locate more of these Black Books.”

‘You do that, friend.’ We headed outside and walked straight into a dragon attack. Why was I not shocked.

“By Malacath’s toenails, where did that come from?” Neloth swore.

The dragon said something to me—I know it did because I heard the word “Dovahkiin”—but I was too busy killing it to pay attention. At least I got the soul from that one.

“I wonder if a dragon could be captured alive? It would make a fascinating test subject.” Neloth said as he started back toward his home.

‘He obviously does not have a subscription to the Black Horse Courier.’


	34. 10.3 Solstheim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My personally formatted e-book copies here: [.azw3](http://ff.grazhir.com/yvara/Yvara%20-%20Shivani.azw3) and [.epub](http://ff.grazhir.com/yvara/Yvara%20-%20Shivani.epub).

02062015

## 10.3

###### The Gardener of Men  
Second Seed, 1st, 4E 202

I sprinted north, to Skaal Village. It was a lovely day, meaning it wasn’t snowing. It wasn’t even overcast. Storn greeted me with, “So the dragons have returned. Well, the Skaal have survived worse.”

‘Right. These guys don’t subscribe, either, it seems.’ “I spoke with Hermaeus Mora. He asked for the ‘secrets of the Skaal’ as his price to give me the final piece of knowledge I need to get rid of Miraak.”

Storn shook his head slowly, in resignation it seemed. “Hermaeus Mora. . . . old Herma-Mora himself. So he is the source of Miraak’s power. Of course. We have many tales of Herma-Mora trying to trick us into giving up our secrets to him. And now he comes again for what we have long kept from him. So it falls to me to be the one to give up the secrets to our ancient enemy. I do not know if I have the strength to face him. The Tree Stone is still corrupted . . . the land is still out of balance. But with the other five restored . . . it may be enough. It will have to be.”

“Are you certain you wish to do this?” I pressed. “It’s a lot to ask of you.”

“Yes,” he replied. “The Skaal also tell of the day when we must finally give up our secrets. When Herma-Mora finally wins. As shaman, it is my duty to guard these secrets, but also to decide when it is necessary to give them up. I believe that time is now. If I am wrong, may my ancestors forgive me. Give me the book. I will read it, and speak to old Herma-Mora myself. I will make sure he lives up to his part of the bargain.”

“If you’re certain,” I said, and pulled the book out to offer it up.

“I am trusting that you will make this sacrifice worthwhile.”

‘Oh, I have a present for Miraak, don’t you worry. It’s to die for.’

As Storn accepted the book and began to walk to a more open spot, Frea came rushing over. “Father, you must not do this,” she pleaded. “That book is . . . wrong. Evil.”

‘And yet it was okay for _me_ to read one?’

“Against everything you have taught me my whole life,” she continued.

“I must, Frea. It is the only way to free Solstheim forever from Miraak’s shadow. There comes a time when everything must change. Nothing that lives remains the same forever. Do not fear for me, my daughter. This is the destiny that the All-Maker has laid out for me.”

Frea sighed helplessly and nodded. “I stand beside you, father, as always.”

“I am ready for whatever the foul master of this book has in store for me.” Storn opened the book. It flew away from him a short distance and hovered in the air, then tentacles came out and held him up, one of them going straight through his torso.

Hermaeus Mora’s avatar appeared and said, “At last, the Skaal yield up their secrets to me.”

Frea wrung her hands as she watched, probably to keep from trying to free Storn from the book, and various villagers approached to observe the spectacle.

“You . . . liar . . . gah!”

“Father! No, stop!”

“I . . . I won’t. . . . I won’t. . . . Not . . . not for you. . . .”

Frea looked over her shoulder at me and cried, “Do something!”

Before I could say anything the avatar spoke again. “Dragonborn, you have delivered me the gift I requested. In return, I keep my promise, as befits a Prince of Oblivion: I give you the Word of Power that you need to challenge Miraak.”

Dov—Dragon.

“No. . . .” Storn said, his voice petering out as the book released him and he sank to the ground, dead.

“You will be either a worthy opponent or his successor, as the tides of fate decree.”

‘I’ll take “worthy opponent” if you don’t mind.’

“Father! What have you done!”

###### At the Summit of Apocrypha  
Second Seed, 1st, 4E 202

“Go,” Frea said roughly. “My father sacrificed himself so you could destroy Miraak and lift his master’s shadow from the land. Go, then. Kill Miraak. Do not fail.”

I moved to Storn’s side long enough to retrieve the Black Book. It was best not to leave it there in the village. I walked away from the scene, saddened at the death, but unable to grieve. I barely knew the man. But I could empathize to a degree with Frea. I, too, had lost family, and not to old age.

I wanted to read the book in a place of relative safety so I returned to Raven Rock and entered the abandoned building there. Then I took a very deep breath, exhaled, and opened _Waking Dreams_. I found myself back at the place where I had first met Miraak. That section of Apocrypha was also divided up into “chapters” I had to navigate, and each one of them had a strange book to collect. That part of Apocrypha was ridiculously confusing.

I eventually ended up in a tall room with multiple levels. At the center was a pedestal with a chapter book, but it was closed. Arrayed around the level I was on were four pedestals, and each of them had a design. I checked all four, compared them to the titles of the books I’d collected, and set about placing them.

“Chapter” six was a large platform. It had two seekers and a word wall: Diiv—Wyrm. I’d no sooner learned it when a dragon flew in and began attacking me. There was no way off the platform, but I had a newly complete Shout. I delved inside to unlock the final Word of Bend Will, then used it on the dragon.

It promptly landed and said, “Hail, thuri. Your Thu’um has the mastery. Climb aboard and I will carry you to Miraak.” I did so, and as we flew along he added, “Beware. Miraak is strong. He knew you would come here.”

A tower came into view, the same one I had seen when first entering the book. The dragon landed atop it and I dismounted as Miraak turned toward us and began to speak. “Sahrotaar, are you so easily swayed?” His hand went up in a gesture at the two dragons flying overhead in circles around the tower. “No, not yet. We should greet our guest first.”

He began to walk toward me slowly. “No doubt just as Hermaeus Mora intended. He is a fickle master, you know. But now I will be free of him. My time in Apocrypha is over. You are here in your full power, and thus subject to my full power. You will die. And with the power of your soul, I will return to Solstheim and be master of my own fate once again. Kruziikrel! Relonikiv! Now!”

The fight was on.

“Hermaeus Mora is laughing at us, you know. Felling Alduin was a mighty deed, and I thank you for it. He would have proved troublesome to me. They wanted to use me to deal with Alduin—Hakon and the rest. I chose otherwise.”

I rolled my eyes, then frowned when he used Whirlwind Sprint to land in some of that disgusting “water” and disappear. He reappeared in the center pool and Shouted, “Kruziikrel, _ziil los dii du_!”

‘That son of a horker!’ I thought. ‘He’s absorbing an ally’s soul to heal himself?’

The fight was on again. His attacks did very little damage to me. The worst of it was when I didn’t dodge fast enough and some of his Shouts clipped me.

“Fate decreed that you had to die so that I could win my freedom. You should not have come here!”

I must have beaten him down enough again, for he sprinted off and reappeared in the center pool. “Relonikiv, _ziil los dii du_!”

‘Bugger. And there’s one dragon left he can use, even if Sahrotaar is on my side right now.’

The fight was back on.

“You are strong. Stronger than I believed possible. I know things that the Greybeards will never teach you.”

‘Pfft. I barely bother to use Shouts as it is, and your idea of a fun time is nothing like mine.’

“This cannot be. I am master of my own fate!” He sprinted off again and I sighed. “So easily you betray me, after all these years. Sahrotaar, _ziil los dii du_!”

I wore him down, again. But this time when he reemerged from the pool, he was floating. Hermaeus Mora’s avatar appeared and said angrily, “Did you think to escape me, Miraak? You can hide nothing from me here.”

And indeed, all of Apocrypha had eyes and tentacles. In the air and in the “water”.

A long, thick tentacle rose up from the pool and pushed through Miraak’s torso. “No matter. I have found a new Dragonborn to serve me.”

‘Ah—’

“May she be rewarded for her service as I am!” he said before he went limp.

“Miraak harbored fantasies of rebellion against me,” the avatar said. “Learn from his example. Serve me faithfully, and you will continue to be richly rewarded.”

Souls streamed to me from Miraak as his body crumbled to ash. The avatar disappeared then, thankfully. All that was left was to loot the remains and deal with the Black Book that had risen up from the pool. That one, when I opened it, created a ring around the platform of green-glowing symbols. I didn’t care. I used the book to exit Apocrypha.

It was done.

###### Second Seed, 2nd, 4E 202

I had two tasks I wanted to do. Karstaag was on the north end of the island, west of center. I sprinted up that way, found the cavern entrance, and sneaked in long enough to retrieve the formula from Esmond’s corpse. Then I headed to Skaal Village.

“I can feel it,” Frea told me. “The Tree Stone is free again. The Oneness of the land is restored. Does that mean . . . it is over? Is Miraak defeated?”

“Storn didn’t die in vain. Miraak will never again threaten Solstheim.” Well, unless a Daedric Prince borrowed his soul from wherever he ended up. . . .

“Thank you. Whatever your other reasons for acting, you have done the Skaal a great service. We will not forget what you have done. One more thing, Skaal-friend, if you will,” she said, pausing as she started to walk away. “I know it is not my place, but . . . may I offer a word of advice . . . of warning?”

“Of course.”

“As shaman of the Skaal, I am charged with the spiritual well-being of my people. While you are not of the Skaal, you are Skaal-friend, and so I give you this warning. Herma-Mora forced you to serve him in order to defeat Miraak. Do not let him lure you further down that path. The All-Maker made you Dragonborn for a higher purpose. Do not forget that. Walk with the All-Maker, Skaal-friend.”

“Any luck tracking down Esmond?” Glover asked when I approached him.

“Yes. He’s dead, but he had the formula on him. Here.” I handed over the parchment, which thankfully had not suffered from the dip Esmond must have taken.

“I told him not to head up there. Sounds like the bloody fool got what he deserved. Here,” he said, handing over a key. “I want you to take this key. Head inside my house and unlock the door in the basement. Help yourself to whatever you like inside. I won’t be using it anymore.”

I nodded and did some business with him, checking to see what he had for sale and selling him a few things I certainly didn’t need. Then I entered his house and checked out the room he mentioned. The most interesting thing I found was a letter from Glover to Sapphire. She was that female thief who pulled a fast one on the stable fellow in Riften. As I recalled she was sulky, harsh, and perhaps bitter.

The letter explained a lot, both her attitude and his reasons for leaving Riften. I decided to take it with me. I could always give it to Brynjolf for delivery. Sapphire was rarely in the Ragged Flagon, so it’d be quicker to let Brynjolf do it instead.

And then I took passage back to Skyrim. Maybe someday I’d return to Solstheim, as myself, and poke around. But that was for another day and time.

Brynjolf wasn’t at his stall, neither was he in the Bee and Barb, so I headed down to the Ragged Flagon. I didn’t see him there, either, but I asked Vekel, and he sent Delvin off to find the man. “I’m stealing you again,” I said when he joined me.

“All right, lass, consider me stolen.”

Delvin laughted as we wandered off, but he was ignored. We ended up at Elysium some time later and I told him the story. I also handed over the letter to Sapphire. “Though how you’ll explain where you got it is beyond me,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll think something up for having run into the Dragonborn again, if any names even need come up.”

“Don’t you worry about that detail, lass. What do you plan to do now?”

I thought about it and frowned. “You know, I _still_ have yet to master three schools of magic!


End file.
